Something That I Would Never Do
by PrizJefra
Summary: Reid comes to him in the middle of the night blushing, stuttering, sweating; begging him to do something that he would never do. But something's not right. The young man is afraid. Delicious, dark Morgan/Reid. Rated M for later chapters.
1. Ordinary People

It had been a long week.

Too long.

One of the children that his team had been searching for had finally shown up outside of a gas station near an abandoned road, naked, bruised, telling stories (between pained breaths) about how her brothers...well, best not think about that.

Morgan sighed and closed his eyes, sinking deeper into the velvety pillows of his couch. He knew he shouldn't dwell on the memory of the girl for if he did her haunted face would only revisit him in his dreams over and over again. Yet it didn't feel right to just forget her, either. But he had to departmentalize….it was for his own good.

He opened his eyes slightly and leveled the small remote in his hand at the expensive (he really was quite proud of it) CD player mounted on the mantel piece. With the click of a few buttons John Legend's voice echoed throughout the small house, louder and louder until Morgan couldn't hear himself think which was the purpose of the whole exercise. Lazily, drifting in and out of what he knew would be a fretful sleep, he spread his arms out along the back of the couch and began to mumble a few of the lyrics.

_We're just ordinary people_

_We don't know which way to go_

_Cuz we're ordinary people_

_Maybe we should take it slow _

_This time we'll take it slow _

_This time we'll take it slow_

But something was wrong. A man who has looked evil in the face often enough always knows when something is wrong, even without knowing just exactly what it was. It was if a glass had shattered violently in the kitchen, its agitating sound disrupting the peace and serenity of his home. He turned around and scanned the space behind him but there was nothing there except for darkness and various pieces of furniture illuminated by the hallway lamp. Heart racing, he slowly stood up and drew his gun from its holster. He didn't know what he was looking for or whether or not it even existed but he just had that feeling…

_This ain't a movie no_

_No fairy tale conclusion ya'll_

_It gets more confusing everyday_

_Sometimes it's heaven sent_

_Then we head back to hell again_

_We kiss then we make up on the way_

He turned the music down until it was nothing but a quiet chatter in the background and proceeded into the dark kitchen, balancing solely on the balls of his feet as he was taught to do in the academy. All was empty, silent, still except for the cold breeze that wafted in and made his curtains shiver…wait…

Cold breeze?

He hadn't left anything open.

It was only then that he noticed his front door had been left ajar still, in fact, undulating slightly. He closed it, its eerie squeak cutting through the silent night, and turned on his heel, seriously pissed now because Supervisory Special Agent Derek Morgan never gets scared, he only gets pissed. Jaws clenched, he ran back into the living room with his gun cocked and held in front of him like a pin on a compass, ready to call out to whoever thought they had the right to enter his house unwelcomed, goddamnit, at this time of night when suddenly he froze. There was a shadow in the hallway, growing longer and longer in the yellow light as whoever it was moved closer.

"All right you sonofabtich, I'm not playing games with you, you hear me? I want you to show yourself, NOW!" The shadow paused and stood still in what couldn't be mistaken as a frightened manner. And then the person stepped forward.

"Reid?"

"M-m-m-m-morgan," Reid paused and swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing beneath pale, sweaty skin, "hi."

"Reid, what the hell are you doing here?"

"D…do you like what you see?"

Morgan lowered his gun and gazed at him in confusion that was quickly replaced by worry for his younger colleague when he noticed the sweat stains blooming all around Reid's shirt and the way that Reid kept avoiding eye contact and instead threw quick, darting glances at a place above Morgan's head.

"Reid…" he said in a softer voice. But Reid ignored him. Fingers shaking he began to undo the buttons of his shirt.

"D…do you…want this…agent Morgan?" Here, a lone tear ran down the side of his cheek as he slipped the shirt off his shoulders, exposing a smooth, sweat-slickened chest glowing faintly yellow in the lamplight. Tears flowing freely now, he began to remove his tie, "please…I want to know… how much you…love me."

Understanding that Reid must have been under some kind of duress, Morgan placed his gun on the side table and approached Reid warily with a worried look on his face. "Reid, nobody's going to hurt you," he whispered gently, "Tell me what's wrong."

"No! No!" Reid gasped and hurriedly wiped the tears from his face, "there's nothing wrong, it's just…" he glanced at that place above Morgan's head again and gave a forced laugh, "I'm just…really nervous that's all," he smiled, "I, um, I have a confession to make."

"Reid, what is it?" Morgan placed his hand on the younger man's shoulder but quickly withdrew it when he felt Reid stiffen beneath his touch.

"I've been…wildly attracted to you ever since I first met you in the BAU office and I..."

"Look at me, Reid."

Reid bit his bottom lip and slowly drew his gaze up to Morgan's. In it, Morgan could see such desperation, such yearning behind a veil of tears that, truthfully, it made him quite uncomfortable. "I just thought…I wanted…so I came here tonight hoping you would," he paused and drew in a shaky breath, "I want…I want you to…f…fuck me, Agent Morgan. I want you to…fuck me really, really hard." Blushing madly, he turned away from Morgan and pulled the tie from his neck with such violence that Morgan knew he was struggling with emotions that were much stronger than he hinted at. But still! He stared at Reid in shock with his mouth hanging open and anger clouding his handsome brow for reasons that he could not explain.

"I'm not going to do that," he said slowly and clearly.

"No, Morgan, you have to!" suddenly Reid threw himself at him and wrapped his arms around Morgan's neck, pressing his slender body suggestively against Morgan's own, "I mean, I really, really want you to! I really need you to…fuck me like you've never fucked anyone before. Please, Morgan!"

"Listen to yourself, man! Look, whatever you're going through I can try and help you with but _that_ is something that I _will not _do!" he tried to push Reid away but the man clung to him harder than ever. Gasping, Reid pushed his wet face right up against Morgan's neck and seized him so tightly that Morgan's ribs were on the verge of collapsing.

"Please," Reid murmured beneath his breath, "he said that he'll kill her if you don't."

oOoOoOo

Author's Note: Well? Whadja think? For some reason I'm really into Morgan/Reid sexy pairings whenever the two are under duress so I thought I might as well try one out for myself. Comments, reviews, suggestions welcome otherwise, sit back and enjoy :)


	2. Taking It Slow

…_he tried to_ _push Reid away but he clung to him with hands like a vise. Gasping, Reid pushed his wet face right up against Morgan's neck and seized him so tightly that Morgan's ribs were on the verge of collapsing._

"_Please," Reid murmured beneath his breath, "he said that if you don't he'll kill her."_

For the second time that night Morgan froze. Gently, slowly, he pushed Reid's shoulders back until they were staring into each other's eyes.

"What?"

"You heard me," Reid said, both his hands and his eyes slipping shyly down to Morgan's hips, "I want you to…f-fuck me on t-the table." Suddenly Morgan understood. Reid _was_ under duress and whoever it was that had control of him obviously wanted him and Reid to have sexual relations or else a woman, Reid's mother, presumably, would be killed. Reid glanced pointedly at the spot above Morgan's head and he realized that there might be a camera hidden somewhere there.

But here the seriousness of the dilemma settled upon him in a very unpleasant way. He _had_ to have sex with Reid, a young man who he considered to be his own brother. On top of that, Reid was his colleague - he had to interact with him on a daily basis. If ever Reid needed help with anything or was feeling down Morgan would fly to his side but outside of that? There was really nothing more than playful banter or an occasional prank phone call. And yet, and yet…

There were those times, at home, alone, when women ceased to do for him and he thought of the young man in ways that would make others cringe. Reid's sexual innocence, the way that he held his lithe body, his alert eyes surrounded by dark, sleepy circles….it was all enough to make a completely heterosexual man such as himself lean against the kitchen counter and slip a hand into his tight-fitting jeans every once in a while (and feel completely ashamed afterwards.) But those were just surreal fantasies that he never expected would come true nor, in this case, did he dream of letting it. They would have to stall until Morgan could think of something better to do. He didn't want to do this…yet all the same he found himself looking forward to the feel of Reid's sweaty…shivering body impaled upon his own.

He closed his eyes and clenched his teeth so hard that the muscles in his jaw jumped and spasmed in pain. "All right, here's what we're going to do," he whispered. He pulled Reid's body closer to his so that it looked like the two were merely embracing, "I want you to pretend that none of this is happening. Listen to me, Reid, we're going to pretend that there isn't a man somewhere out there threatening us to do this. We're going to pretend that everything is normal and this is just you and I getting a little bit naughty on a Saturday night. Spencer, can you do that for me?" Reid didn't respond. He gazed at Morgan's chest, eyes shrouded in shadows and cheeks flushed. "Hey," Morgan said, lifting his chin up and gazing into his eyes with sincerity, "I'm not going to hurt you."

Perhaps soothed by his words, perhaps finally coming to the realization that he _must _accept his fate, Reid looked at him, dry-eyed, for the first time, with something akin to defiant determination. His pink lips parted to say something but right at that moment something screeched loudly into the dusky silence, making them both jump.

The phone was ringing.

The two men looked at the wailing, innocent thing on the side-table as if they had never seen anything like it before. Glancing quickly at Reid, Morgan advanced slowly towards the telephone and pressed one of its flashing buttons. Immediately, the static-ridden sound of plates clinking, people laughing, and chairs being shuffled filled the room.

"Hello?"

"...Spencer? Is this Spencer? You don't sound like him. Where's my son?"

Spencer gasped and with an unintelligible cry threw himself at the side table with such force that the whole thing went rocking back and forth on its wooden legs. "Mom? Mom, It's me, Spencer-"

"Spencer! Why didn't you tell me you had such a nice friend? You know, we've been here reading Kempe the whole morning. He's so nice! Come, say hello to Spencer…"

"Mom! Mom! No, wait-"

"_He-llo_, Spencer." A new voice filled the room; a dark, drawling, alpha-maleish voice that both of the agents had heard before but couldn't place. "How've you been?"

"I swear to god, whoever you are, if you hurt her –"

"Hey hey hey now, what's this?" The man's voice deepened confidentially. "_You're on speaker_. I would never hurt Diana! I mean, frankly, I've never met someone who knew so much about Margery Kempe and her work. Until I met Diana, that is." They could hear Reid's mom saying something in the background. The man laughed and then bid her to "hold on for a second." There was a slight crackling noise as he got back on the phone, "All right boys, here's the deal. I am watching your every move. I can see you now on my phone's screen. If you don't do what I say or vary just a _little _bit from my instructions Diana Reid's brain matter will paint the wall." He paused for effect. Reid glanced up at Morgan with a pained expression. But, beneath tousled hair and sweaty skin, his eyes were vacant as a dead man's, lost in an abyss of fear. Morgan had to look away. The man on the phone laughed. "See! That was cute! Really was, guys. Keep it up and maybe I'll let the boy's mother live."

"What are you doing this for, you sick son of a bitch?" Morgan growled, staring intensely at the phone as if, with one good shot, he could take out the man who was forcing him to have sex with his junior partner. "Now, now, now, patience, Derek. I'm getting there. You see, I'm doing this for your own sake," here the man's voice became distant and dreamy, "I've been watching you two around the office. Your playful banter, your silly little conversations, mmmm," the man hissed in pleasure, "you two were _meant _for each other. Now, you obviously don't know it and that's why I'm going to give you a little push. I promise, after a whole night of feasting off of the feel, the very smell of each other's bodies you two will not be able to resist touching each other every second of everyday. Thus, in this way, I am merely carrying out a task for fate, I…am Fate."

"But I don't –"

"Love him? Doctor Reid, you completely ignorant, a-sexual, little bastard, you know nothing about love. That's why Special Agent Derek Morgan is going to teach you all about it. Now. No more dawdling. Agent Morgan, you heard him: he wants you to fuck him on the table. And none of this pretty little 'I won't hurt you' nonsense. I want you to leave scars. You do what I want and I shall personally give you my address and you can do with me what you will. If you don't do what I say…boom. Oh, and just so you know, I have nothing to lose here. I lost my wife and unborn child to cancer. My house is about to go into foreclosure. My job has been chipped and eaten at by the government until it was worth nothing more than the dirt at the bottom of my shoe. I lose nothing from the death of Diana Reid. Do you understand me?"

There was a silence.

"I understand," Reid whispered.

"Do you, Derek Morgan, understand?" But Morgan was silent. He would not, could not, go through with this. It was sick, this game, but…what else could he do but accept this Unsub's terms and conditions? Before he could think of any possible loopholes around the deal Spencer jerked his head up and stared at him with unconcealed anger. "Morgan, tell him you understand!"

"…I understand."

"Oh, lovely! To many more nights and evenings like this! Reid, start off sucking Morgan's dick, will you? Diana, come! Let us read more Margery Kempe together! Your son is busy at the moment!"

The Unsub hung up and a loud, empty dial tone spit into the silence. Morgan reached his hand out, whether to touch Reid or turn the phone off, he was not sure, but suddenly Reid was on him. Fervent, feverish, with cold hands, he reached out and pulled Morgan's head towards his own, pressing their lips together in a determined sort of way. Fumbling fingers slipped down his neck, his chest, the waist of his jeans as Reid's tongue pushed past his lips and invaded his mouth. Morgan pulled back in alarm. "Reid, breathe!"

"What? Yeah, cause you can't?" Reid began to rip and pull at the fabric of his shirt, all the while looking Morgan in the eye with a crazed sort of look, "Morgan, my mother is going to die if we don't…if you don't…so excuse me if a minor discomfort gets in the way of your otherwise wholly pleasurable experience."

"Reid! I don't want this!"

"Don't you?" Before Morgan could retaliate, Reid dropped to his knees and hooked his fingers in the lining of Morgan's boxers. He yanked down hard and, much too both their embarrassments, Morgan's hard-on popped out and hit him on the chin. "Don't you?" Reid murmured again. For a moment he paused and looked up at Morgan with a hurt look as if to say _See? Do you see what I mean? You want me, Morgan. You want this_. Morgan closed his eyes in frustration (truthfully, tinged with anticipation) and pulled off his shirt; the final barrier between his full, nude body and Reid's innocent eyes. Reid took a breath in, unintentionally breathing in the smell of manly musk that radiated from his coworker.

"Just don't…" he didn't know what to say, but Morgan nodded as if he understood.

"I know."

Reid's Semi-POV

Reid swallowed and forced himself to look at the engorged flesh bobbing beneath his nose. He hadn't seen many penises before, save for the timidly drawn outlines in scientific diagrams and medical charts, yet he knew that Morgan was what society considered _thick _(well, what else did he expect from such a dominating, alpha-maleish man?) Although he knew the technicalities of man-on-man sex, he suddenly feared that Morgan would simply _not _be able to fit. Panicking, he envisioned himself laying spread-eagle upon the bed as a taught Morgan tried again and again to penetrate his body, all while the unsub tapped his foot impatiently. The vision was humiliating enough to bring tears to his eyes which he quickly blinked away before Morgan could see. He had to be strong for his mother. Her sweet little boy would have to be fucked so that she may live. Any other day the thought would have been hilarious. He swallowed again, feeling hot all over. Quickly, so as not to linger on the taste, he wrapped his mouth around Morgan's member…

**Author's Note: Sorry, I decided to make this into a two-part thing so that this chapter wouldn't be too long. Proceed!**


	3. But They Don't Know Which Way To Go

_He had to be strong for his mother. Her sweet little boy would have to be fucked so that she may live. Any other day the thought would have been hilarious. He swallowed again, feeling hot all over. Quickly, so as not to linger on the taste, he wrapped his mouth around Morgan's member…_

Morgan's POV

Before Morgan could warn him, Reid stuffed his whole cock in his mouth and immediately pulled back, gasping and hacking. "You have to take it slowly, Reid," he said gently, although on the inside he was secretly amused at Reid's ignorance.

"I just want to get this over with," Reid mumbled, taking Morgan's cock in his hand.

Morgan was immediately sobered.

Taking a breath in, Reid tried again, slower this time. Morgan sighed and let his head fall back as Reid's tongue slipped delicately over his sensitive flesh. Already he could feel himself getting close. "Come on baby," he mouthed silently, secretively as, unconsciously, he began to run his fingers through Reid's hair. Reid looked up at him questioningly before resuming the mechanical rhythm that made Morgan groan in delight. There was nothing to be heard except the wet pops and smacks that resounded throughout the room whenever Reid pulled away from Morgan's cock to take a breath in. The kid was a fast learner, Morgan realized, and soon Reid went from sucking timidly about the head of his cock to taking him on deep throat (amongst much shuddering and sputtering.) For a minute, as his thighs trembled and tingled with a sudden weakness, Morgan allowed himself to lose himself in the fantasy that he and Reid _were s_imply getting naughty on a Saturday night: that Reid had come to him of his own accord, not on that of a perverted unsub's. He allowed himself to fantasize that Reid had knocked on his door hoping to get some advice about a hot little date that he had coming up later on that night. He indulged himself on the thought of the hesitant but eager face of Spencer Reid as he offered to show him, first-hand, how he should touch a woman during those midnight hours after their date. He imagined Reid riding his cock, head thrown back in ecstasy, touching himself with fervent determination-

What was he doing?

Reid didn't want this and neither should he.

He quickly pushed those fantasies from his mind and pulled a surprised Reid up by the wrists. He was about to whisper that they should move into the kitchen but before he could open his mouth his eyes met Reid's and they stood for a minute, just gazing at each other. And in that moment he could no longer deny it. He _wanted_ Reid. He wanted him _badly_. He wanted everything about him: the diamond-shaped lips; the wide, innocent eyes; the ridiculous facts spewed at awkward moments. "Derek," Reid said softly, seeing the fire that suddenly lit up in his colleague's eyes. He didn't know if he feared that fire or, truthfully, lusted after it. Morgan said nothing. Without breaking eye contact he stepped closer to Reid and placed his hands on either side of his neck. He kissed those diamond-shaped lips and, for once, Reid did not quiver or tense beneath Morgan's touch. "Come on," still gazing into his eyes, Morgan took him by the hand and led him to the dinette. There, he hoisted Reid up and laid him across the polished surface. Words failed him as he slipped Reid's tan pants from his legs and admired the gentle, graceful curves of Reid's naked hips. Only one thing came to mind as he feasted his eyes on the wet, honey-tinted skin…

"Reid, you're beautiful," Reid pursed his lips shyly.

"Nobody's ever told me that before."

"Spencer, you serious?!" Surely the kid was lying. It was hard to believe that a body as godly and graceful as his could have gone unappreciated for such a long time.

"You sound surprised," Reid said, amused by the astonished look on Morgan's face. He smiled a tiny, timid smile.

Morgan could only shake his head at such injustice. Awestruck, his ran his fingers down Reid's chest, positively swooning at the feel of the younger agent's slick, sweaty skin beneath his own. Suddenly he was hungry, feral, desperate to be inside of Spencer Reid – almost insanely so. He grabbed the boy's thighs and positioned them so that they were level with his own. Slowly, he slipped his fingers between their two bodies and pushed them deep inside Spencer's tight hole. Spencer gasped. His face contorted in pain but soon this was replaced by pure bliss as Morgan's expert fingers moved in and out, in and out, in and out of his lovely body. Suddenly, Reid gasped and instinctively grabbed hold of his cock when Morgan, whilst attempting to hide a grin, ran his finger along Reid's prostate. What with his profiling skills, Morgan couldn't help but notice that Reid's eyebrows furrowed with slight embarrassment and curiosity as Morgan pleasured him again and again with his fingers. He also couldn't help but notice that Reid had let go of his penis almost as soon as he had grabbed it.

Quite virgin indeed.

But still that did not stop him from taking his cock in his hand and guiding it slowly, tauntingly, into Reid's hole. The younger man closed his eyes and clenched his hands on the edges of the table. "M-morgan," Reid put his hand on Morgan's chest and tried to push him away, "oh god, Morgan, please…no. I can't, I…" But Morgan did not stop and, with a hiss of satisfaction, he buried himself deep inside of Reid. Slowly, the younger man's hands slipped away from Morgan's chest and he let his head fall back with a _thunk _onto the table. Panting heavily, Reid ran his hands along his nipples, through his hair; he touched himself everywhere in fits of ecstasy and helplessness as Morgan began to thrust deeply inside of him.

"Come on, kid," Morgan growled as his thrusts went from slow and measured to frenzied, wild enough to knock over the vase that had been sitting in the middle of the table. It rolled off and shattered on the floor, but still Morgan went on: pounding his young lover relentlessly as Reid whimpered and writhed beneath him, his weeping cock bouncing like a ball on cement. Morgan took Reid's cock in one hand and pumped furiously in time with his thrusts while the other held on tightly to Reid's thigh (he briefly remembered that the unsub wanted him to leave scars so he dug his nails deeper into Reid's skin until angry, red welts bloomed about his fingers. He'd have to apologize later.)

"Oh, fuck me, kid. Yeah," he couldn't help grunting.

And to his surprise Reid responded with a high-pitched, "Mmmm, uh-huh, just like that Morgan,"

Surprised, Morgan tried again, "Oh, pretty boy," he crooned. Reid bit his bottom lip

"Come on, Morgan,"

Morgan smiled and rode out a wave of pleasure by shoving his cock deep in Reid's wet hole, all the way up to the hilt. For a moment they just stood like that. Reid closed his eyes and slipped his hands between his thighs and up Morgan's torso, thoroughly enjoying the feel of the hot, foreign tool inside of him. Gently, tauntingly (for he knew that Reid was close) he bent down and kissed his jawbone. He began to move slowly, so slowly, against Spencer Reid until, with a cry, Reid hunched his shoulders, raised his hips up off of the table, and came all over Morgan's heaving chest. Morgan paused and gazed at the hot, sticky fluid that oozed between his nipples. _That did not just come from Reid_, he thought to himself humorously. Hesitantly, as if his whole body were begging him not to, Reid pushed himself up and ran a finger down Morgan's chest.

"Can I?" he asked, blushing. "It's just…I've never really…"

"Do what you have to do."

Reid ran his tongue along Morgan's chest, gathering all of the steaming white semen onto his tongue before kissing Morgan full on the lips. Moaning low in his throat, he ran his wet tongue over Morgan's own as his hands roamed shyly over the toned body. Morgan began to pant and, though he was no longer inside of Reid, his hips began to buck. Shuddering, he released spurt after spurt of his creamy white seed onto Reid's thighs. After a second or two Morgan exhaled tiredly and fell against Reid, not even bothering to do something about the wetness between their legs. The two men stood in silence – Morgan resting his head on Reid's shoulder, Reid rubbing his neck thoughtfully – as their chests rose and fell in unison. Finally, Reid chuckled. "Never thought I'd see the day when you had to lean against me for support."

"Yeah, well, I never thought I'd see the day when we…"Reid pushed him back and put a finger to his lips.

"So you've thought about this before?"

"Come on, Reid, not now."

"Well I have." Morgan looked at him in surprise. "Just…not like this."

"Reid!"

"I'm not a completely a-sexual little bastard."

"Reid…Spencer, I –"

"And the funny thing is...I…I think I might've enjoyed it."

Reid looked up at him and smiled a full, true smile. A trusting smile. Morgan couldn't help but smile back and soon smiling turned to shy chuckling, shy chuckling turned to stifled laughter, and stifled laughter became relieved, care-free laughter…until the phone rang for the second time that night. Both men jumped and immediately all traces of connection and trust disappeared as they remembered the predicament that they were in. Reid rushed towards the phone and pressed the flashing green button. This time he didn't even have time to answer before the Unsub's voice filled the room. "Boys, boys, boys," the man cried in obvious delight, "When I told you two to fuck each other, I must admit, I wasn't expecting this! Look at you, already speaking to each other like lovers! What was that you said, Reid? That you enjoyed it?" The Unsub laughed.

"Where's my mother?" Reid asked urgently.

"She? Oh, well, yes, I left her a long time ago. As soon as I saw Morgan throw you onto that table I knew that I wouldn't have to worry about you two not following my rules. So tell me, how did it feel getting fucked by a big, handsome, black man such as Mo-"

"Your address, you son of a bitch, what's your address?" That was Morgan,

"Hmm. Oh, patience, Derek. On Monday I shall deliver it to you in a little pink envelope on a silver platter around 12. You'll be in the office around that time, won't you?" Silence. "Mm, well, yes, you will. See you two soon! So glad that I could be of assistance,"

The Unsub laughed and hung up the phone. Immediately Reid dialed the number to the institution that Diana was staying in and asked to speak with her. As he did Morgan began to slowly get dressed, wiping the dried semen off of his legs with a nearby cloth. So he did it. He had finally fucked Reid. He looked over at the naked body hunched gracefully over the telephone. How would he ever be able to look at Reid again without growing hungry for his touch, the feel of the boy's pouty lips against his own? How would he be able to live without being able to shower a thousand kisses upon the boy's bare shoulders every second of every hour? Knowing that they had done what they had done, would they ever be able to look each other in the eye again and still be able to look away? All of these thoughts were running through his head when Reid finally stood up to face him. Seeing that he was fully dressed and he was still naked, Reid began to search about frantically for his clothes. There was a silence in which Morgan looked away respectfully while Reid got dressed (not that it mattered anymore.)

"She, uh, she doesn't know," Reid said simply when he had finished dressing. He fixed the collar of his vest, "Nor will she ever." Morgan stared at him, searching hopefully for the spark, the subtle gleam that would relight the passion that they had felt only moments before. Reid glanced at him with hardened eyes. "I'd appreciate it if you didn't tell anyone about this."

"…okay, but what about the Unsub who's going to turn himself in on Monday?"

"Forget about him, Morgan! We'll…tell him that we're not pressing charges and we'll just forget about the whole thing."

"He threatened to kill your mother!"

"But now that he's gotten what he wanted he's probably never going to do it again. You heard him! Morgan, the man's suicidal; he'll probably go and…kill himself or something."

"Reid, you're a profiler, aren't you? So use that genius head of yours for a moment and _think_. It's all about power for this guy! We're the only people that he's ever felt that he could control-"

"Will you- don't profile me right now! Please, Morgan!" Much to Morgan's alarm, Reid kicked out at the side table and sent its contents clattering to the ground. The remote to the radio landed face down on its buttons, causing the radio to turn on and began blasting the previous song.

"_Maybe we'll live and learn_

_Maybe we'll crash and burn_

_Maybe you'll stay, maybe you'll leave, _

_Maybe you'll return_

_Maybe another fight_

_Maybe we won't survive_

_But maybe we'll grow_

_We never know baby you and I_"

Reid brought his hands to his head and clenched his hair in his fists. "This may have been easy for you. You probably had sex with seven women today before you came and did this to me, but Morgan, I've never…" Reid swallowed and looked up at him with tear-filled eyes, "please…they can't know." By 'they' Reid meant the BAU team. Morgan bowed his head and thought for a moment. Of course, he wouldn't mind it if the team knew. It would be Hotch's business to know if there was a rogue coworker forcing others in the building to have sex with each other. JJ would have been able to help him with the legal paperwork (for he did plan on putting the Unsub behind bars after putting him behind his fist) and the others…well…they were his team; they were like family to him. They had a right to know and maybe they would be able to help. But still, he knew that Reid struggled to keep up a nonchalant persona each and every day. If word got out that they had done this, even if that word was only within their tight-knit team, Reid would crumble. Reid had a reputation of sexual obliviousness and ignorance, quite unlike his own and he simply could not break that. He looked up and into Reid's eyes which were watching him with quiet desperation. He had the power to rule Reid's fate right now, and they both knew it.

"_We're just ordinary people_

_We don't know which way to go_

_Cuz we're ordinary people_

_Maybe we should take it slow_"

He closed his eyes and clenched his teeth in frustration. "All right. No one will know about this."

Reid ran his hands over his face and sighed. But instead of looking grateful he looked at Morgan with a certain sadness that Morgan thought was due to the fact that they had just had sex, no, the thought that Morgan had raped him. His stomach seemed to drop to his feet at the revelation. But much to his surprise, Reid reached over and smoothed out a vein that had been throbbing on his temple. His touch was gentle, loving, but definitely not upset.

"You probably don't know what it feels like to want to kiss someone when you know that you shouldn't." Morgan looked at him stupidly. Reid smiled. "I want to kiss you, Morgan. But I can't…for the sake of my own medically instable sanity."

And with that Reid turned, quite unsteady on his feet, and ran through the kitchen door. Morgan stood for a minute, quite dazed. He could feel a migraine coming on. Slowly, he walked to the creaking kitchen door and closed it. Then he wandered over to the couch where he lowered himself onto the plush cushions and allowed himself to slip off into a dark, confusing sleep. He would not allow himself to stay awake, to think, for he knew that if he did he would only think about _him _– the genius with the diamond-shaped lips – and how much he (yes, he now knew) loved him.

"_We're just ordinary people_

_We don't know which way to go_

_Cuz we're ordinary people_

_Maybe we should take it slow _

_This time we'll take it slow _

_This time we'll take it slow_"

-Page Break-

Author's Note: *puff puff* I'm sorry, that's never happened to me before….the whole writing a sex-scene-thing, that is. How'd I do? AH! Oh, bollocks, I just realized that I forgot to tell you how Spencer met the Unsub. Next chapter, promise. Speaking of which, I have a really great, heart-breaking idea for the next chapter which will either be the final chapter or the beginning of a MorganxReid filled story, depending on the reviews *wink wink* But yes! Thank you for reading, you ReidxMorgan lovers!


	4. Indecision

"Morgan?"

"I'm here, Reid…is everything all right?"

"…yeah, I guess. I mean, now that we're not…you know…screwing each other senselessly."

He smiles. He's twirling his finger around the rim of his cup. The music is soft, gently pulsing like the rhythm of his heart. He promised himself that he would remain cool, calm, collected for Reid's sake. He would not let that rhythm reach a heated tempo. "Was that a joke I just heard?"

"…maybe. My mind is…kind of fuzzy right now…I've been thinking."

_When are you not?_ "Talk to me,"

"I just wanted to apologize for running out like that."

"Reid-"

"No, listen to me, Morgan. I feel like I could've been stronger about everything that passed between us that night *ahem* Can you forgive me?"

He squeezed the glass in his palm so hard that it shattered. But he did not care for the pain that bloomed crimson red and smelled of a jazz bar's bourbon on his hand. He only thought of the shame that bloomed greyish in Reid's heart. _Stay calm_, he told himself. But the fact that the young man that he wanted so badly to make his eternal lover should have his shoulders bowed by the weight of an apology enraged him. He felt his temple begin to throb again. "Reid, you don't _ever_ have to apologize to me about anything, especially what happened last night."

There was silence on the other end, interrupted only by the sound of a gentle, shy breathing. Finally Reid spoke, "You think we could ever go back to normal again?"

"That's something that we're going to have to decide on together."

"…well, I'm not sure I want to go back to normal."

"Pretty boy, _you are_ driving me crazy."

"I know! I know, okay? And I'm sorry –"

"Stop it," he warned.

"It's just that…I think I love you, Morgan and it's sad because it's a really...strange way to fall in love," he pursed his lips. "Don't you think?

Silence.

"But I can't," he continued, "I can't love you because…well, I guess I just don't understand love in that way. Maybe I don't understand love at all. Maybe I'm just one of those people who can't…who can't give or receive love."

"…Spencer…"

"Um, I really just called to apologize and reiterate the fact that _they can't know_. Morgan, you promised –"

"And I plan to stick to that promise."

"This morning Emily called to invite me to see the third rendition of Optimal Transgressions. Then out of nowhere she asked me if I had gotten any sleep last night. I…" tense laughter, "I know this sounds ridiculous but for a minute I thought she knew."

"Hmmm,"

"I had to hang up because I had started shaking…I heard disgust in her voice, Morgan."

"She doesn't know."

"Still. Just the thought of her…possibly knowing….ah – I'm having another one of my headaches – Morgan, they….just…they can't know, all right?"

"Yeah…all right."

"Promise me again!"

"I promise!"

"No, swear on your life!"

"Reid!"

"Do it, Morgan!"

"All right, I swear on my life. You happy now?!"

Reid stepped back and stared at the grimy phone in his hand. He could hear Morgan's voice, so miniscule and far away, calling his name from the other end. _I haven't decided yet_, he wanted to say but when he brought the phone to his cheek again he found that he could not speak. He forced a cough and immediately a red-hot pain racked through his chest and made his temple pound. He tried to call Morgan's name but his voice simply would not work so instead he stood there, listening to the rising concern in Morgan's voice as he tried to get his young lover to speak to him. _I'm sorry_, he thought. Gently, hand strangely steady, he dropped the phone on the receiver and stepped out of the phone booth. Immediately, a rush of cool night air washed over his face, his body, and he stopped to breathe it in. The orange and yellow city lights twinkled sluggishly in the distance, vomiting hazy light into the splendor of the struggling stars. But to Reid the world was nothing but an ugly blur against beneath a chilly night sky. Shivering, he placed his hands in his pockets, his fingers brushing against three small glass bottles. One of these he pulled out and surveyed with interest. _Should he? Should he?_ From his other pocket he withdrew a syringe. But before he could unscrew the little orange cap and inject the needle in the clear fluid he thought of Morgan's face, thought of the perfect brows that came together when he looked at him, the sweet lips that used to smirk whenever he said something completely innocent and virginal. He slipped the bottle and the syringe back into his pocket and got into his car where he sat the whole night through, thinking pensively of Morgan as he fingered the bottles of dilaudid in his pocket.

_Indecision._

12 pm

"Jack! Buddy, come on! We gotta go before we're late!"

"Coming daddy! I can't find my shin-gowds."

"Shin guards?" Hotch paused. He had been shuffling hurriedly through the morning's mail when he came across a heavy manila folder. He scrutinized the crackling orange paper warily. His team had had bad experiences with strange mail and because of it he was nervous about opening this one in front of Jack in case it was another human finger or sawed-off ear. "Check daddy's closet," he called. The sound of little feet running in the hall faded away, followed by the sound of a closet door being thrown open. He picked up a nearby napkin and, using it as a glove, reached his hand in the envelope and pinched the thin rectangular box within: a CD case labeled 'Agent Reid Has Some Fun.' Hotch gazed at it in wonder. He was immediately suspicious. Reid would never label a CD meant for his supervisor so informally nor would he ever actually send him a CD unless it had something to do with a case and currently there were none. "Daddy," Jack called, "I can't find dem!"

"I'll be there in a second!"

Glancing over his shoulder, Hotch bent down in front of the VCR player and pushed the CD in the slot. He pressed a button and the screen came to life. There was a moment of static, and then…

His stomach dropped. There, on screen, was Reid lying on his back on a dinette table as Morgan pounded him relentlessly. Breathing slowly, Hotch forced himself to look back up at the screen to see if there was any meaning to it – to try and find the reason why his agents would send something so (Reid gave a particularly high-pitched whine and Hotch felt the fabric of his pants tighten) scandalous to him. But there seemed to be no meaning to this video, no goal except of that to shock and in that the two men had succeeded thoroughly.

"Found dem, daddy. Wha's dat?" Hotch jumped and quickly turned off the TV.

"Nothing. You found your shin guards! You all ready now?" Jack nodded happily, making the hair around his forehead bounce. Hotch forced a smile and brushed that hair away from his son's face. "All right, let's go."

He followed Jack to the car, his mind still on the images from the video. Even when he got in and turned the key in the ignition he could still see Reid's face as clear as day. He could still hear Morgan's grunts and mumbled words of pleasure-laced assent as he moved in and out of the young agent. Although he tried to ignore it, a funny feeling was growing in his stomach (he adjusted the seat belt over his crotch,) a feeling that intensified to the point of nausea. He tried, without success, to push the mental image of Reid out of his mind but found that he simply could not. So instead his thoughts turned to anger. How dare they send him such a racy video? Was this their idea of some sick joke? He swerved and almost hit a car in the side lane. "Sorry, buddy," he muttered to Jack as the young child bent over to pick up his fallen toys. Even if it wasn't a sick joke they knew they weren't supposed to have interdepartmental sex.

And then another thought entered Hotchner's mind. Perhaps Morgan…no, but…he did seem like he was enjoying it. Hotch slowly eased the car into the parking lot, trying to push out the new thought that had slinked into his mind and settled there like thick, tar black river. Perhaps…

"Daddy! Come on! We're going to be late!

Hotch smiled at his son and put on his sun glasses. He suddenly felt dizzy with the effort of trying to push the sexy images out of his mind. All the same he braced his palm against the car door and pushed himself up. He wasn't sure how he was going to get through his Jack's soccer game when his mind was somewhere else completely.

He wiped the sweat from his chin and followed son.

1:00 pm

Emily closed her eyes and leaned back in her chair, her palm resting against the warm cup of coffee on the table. Soon, the sounds of the busy street and the chatty people around her faded away into an indiscriminate nothing and she was conscious of nothing except for the wild saxophone that struggled breathlessly through the speakers and the golden sunshine that fell on her skin (of course, her keen FBI senses never really allowed her a moment of pure unconsciousness, but hey. She would take what she could get.) She breathed in the smell of buttery croissants baking and Nestle hot chocolate. She sensed someone moving back the chair in front of her.

"Coffee at 1 p.m.?"

She smiled. "What can I say? The BAU kicked me into a habit."

JJ smiled and rolled her eyes. She took off her navy green coat and sat down in front of Emily. "But it's the middle of the day. You should just now be coming down from your early morning coffee high."

"Actually, it's 1:03 right now. I came down from my coffee high three minutes ago."

"Oh," JJ made an 'O' with her lips and picked up the hot chocolate that Emily had thoughtfully ordered for her. Dropping her eyes, she wrapped her hands around the warm mug and took a sip, "so you're behind, then?" she said, swallowing gratefully. She took another sip.

"Well…yeah."

JJ laughed. Still smiling, she turned her stunning blue eyes on Emily's face and stared at her with a gaze full of earnestness. "You know, I'm really glad we finally got a chance to hang out like this. You and I…we haven't been able to connect as much as much we used to what with the onslaught of cases and now Will…"

"Oh, please. You just got married. You have fun with Will and just know that whenever you look over your shoulder I'll be right here with another cup of hot chocolate." JJ shook her head and opened her mouth to say something but right at that moment the waiter, a fresh-faced youth with a strong build and a cocky smile, sauntered up to their table carrying a silver tray full of glittering glasses. He set one down in front of Emily with a muttered 'ma'am' but hesitated before giving JJ her own. She looked up at him questioningly and immediately became suspicious. Glancing quickly at Emily, he bent down and whispered in JJ's ear under the pretense of putting her glass down in front of her.

"This is for you, Ms. Jareau," he slipped an envelope from his vest and slid it under her plate. Before she could ask what it was or who it was from the waiter turned on his heels and hurried away. Emily looked over at the envelope with interest. "What's that?" she asked. JJ shrugged and slid a finger beneath the crisp flap. Inside the envelope there were three silky-looking pieces of paper: photographs, to be exact. She pulled them out…and gasped.

They were all pictures of Reid splayed across a table in a dark room, his legs thrown over a sweaty Morgan's shoulders. She turned to the next photo and the next; they were all variations of the exact same thing. The chatter of the café dulled away into a faint, painful humming and all she could really hear was her heart pounding violently in her throat. She was faintly aware of Emily's anxious eyes on her and yet, in that moment, all she could really think was _I should not be seeing this_. She forced herself to look up and into those eyes

"JJ? JJ? Jennifer!?"

Should she tell her? Should she show her the sinful pictures that she now clutched to her chest? She thought of Reid's face in the photographs, mouth held open in a soundless ecstasy as Morgan….she couldn't show Emily. She did not know why these photographs had been sent to her or whether or not they were even meant to be sent to her at all, but she did know one thing: she couldn't defile Reid's body further by showing these pictures to Emily. As far as she knew, Emily was not privy to their colleague's tryst (surely, she would have told her if she was) and JJ planned to keep it that way. She'd have to talk to Reid and Morgan later. She cleared her throat and smiled. "Uh….just a love note from one of the waiters," she said, tearing the pictures to little pieces in her lap. Emily looked at her skeptically. "Really? What'd it say?"

"Uh…it's kind of racy," she said, feigning a look of disgust. The weight of naughtiness was heavy in her lap, each torn piece seemingly as cold as marbles.

"JJ…"

"Let's order, shall we?"

Emily stared at her with eyes full of suspicion mingled with worry. She could tell by JJ's drawn face and frowning lips that she did not want her to dig any further into the matter so, with a final worried glance, Emily dropped her eyes to the menu in her hand.

Two hours later found both women laughing heartily with empty glasses of wine in their hands and frosted crumbs from various desserts on their plates. Both women had completely forgotten about the envelope that JJ had received and things would have stayed that way had it not been for the three pictures that had been taped beneath their bill. JJ reached for it but Emily was faster.

"Don't worry, I got it," still smiling broadly she picked up the receipt and was about to write down their tip when her fingers brushed against the three photos on the back. She flipped the receipt around. Her mouth fell open.

I'm sure you know what was on those three photos.

"Oh my god…" she said breathlessly. She looked up at her colleague with shock in her eyes. But, just like JJ, she did not dare breathe a word of the private intimacy between Morgan and Reid that had been exposed – possibly by mistake, possibly deliberately – before her very eyes. For a minute the two women just stared at each other, each knowing, each not daring to speak before Emily shook her head and stuffed the photos in her back pocket.

"I'll be right back," she mumbled. She got up and hurriedly pushed her chair beneath the table. The fresh faced waiter, seeing her approaching with a fiery look in her eyes, dropped the rag that he had been cleaning a table with and tried to scurry away but it took less than a second for Emily to catch up with him.

"Where did you get those pictures from," she hissed. He laughed awkwardly.

"What are you, a cop?"

"FBI agent, actually," she said, flashing her badge in his face. He gulped.

"I…er…a man paid me twenty dollars to give them to you guys, uh, you and the blonde lady."

"What did he look like?"

"Uh, I don't know. Fat. Average looking. Kinda creepy."

"Did he say anything?"

The man suddenly looked uncomfortable, "Look, is this an inquisition? Do I need a lawyer or something?"

Emily sighed, at a loss. "No," she said. The man waited for her to fire off more questions but seeing that she was riding on her own train of thoughts he mumbled some lame excuse or another and slipped away. Emily looked up and stared at JJ, sitting rigidly in the distance and watching her with an unreadable look on her face.

_I can't tell her_, she thought to herself as she walked back to their table, _no, I won't tell anybody._

9 pm

_Doo-doo-doo_

Garcia groaned sleepily. Who the hell sent texts at three in the morning, seriously? She batted lazily at the nightstand beside her bed, not even bothering to take off her frilly pink sleeping mask.

_Doo-doo-doo._

"Okay," she mumbled to herself as she searched around blindly for her cellphone, "I know that I work for a very important team of specialists who have dedicated themselves to fighting crime and kicking bad-guys ass, but I am not a machine. I need my…." At that moment she realized that she still had her sleeping mask on and that probably contributed to the fact that she couldn't see anything. She ripped it off and gazed at her bedside table with sleepy eyes, "…beauty sleep."

She grabbed at her cell phone and lay back in bed. It was still only morning so the soft, blue light that slipped through her window was not strong enough to fend off the heavy, glittering darkness of her room. She squinted uncomfortably at the glowing white screen of her phone. Three new picture messages from an unknown sender. She pressed open. And paused. And slowly smiled. "Hello," she said with devilish relish, "what's this?" She scrolled through the images on her phone. She had no idea….she…she really had no idea….._oh, but I should have known_, she thought to herself, _the bromance between those two is sickeningly strong. _

Still smiling, she erased the images from her phone and buried herself beneath her covers, ready to slip back into a long, much needed sleep. _It's about time Reid had some fun_, she thought, yawning, _and Morgan's the perfect one to show him how to do it. Oh, tomorrow, when Hotch isn't looking, I am _so_ going to tease them. I wonder why they sent those pictures to me, though?_

Unsurprisingly, the thought never occurred to her that the two men might have been fucking in order to save Reid's mother.

**Author's Note: Ah, sorry I took so long to post. I was trying to decide if I should make this chapter into a two part thing (cuz I still wanted to show Rossi's reaction when he got the photos) or just leave it as it is and make the next chapter its own chapter. I decided I'm going to stick with the latter. So what'd you think? Oh, I also decided that even though Morgan and Reid aren't in a relationship (yet) I'm going to refer to Reid as Morgan's young lover and Morgan as Reid's lover just for a little fun. **_**Also**_**, if you caught a little hint of JJ/Emily yes, it was there. Don't worry, that's the only time you'll see it pop up in this story. Thank you so much for the reviews! They're really, really, really, really inspiring!**


	5. Vulnerability

"Okay, so let me get this straight…" Emily looked up at the passing ceiling thoughtfully. It didn't help that Garcia was trotting along next to her, staring at her as if, if she got her analysis wrong, the whole world would collapse onto itself and turn into oatmeal. JJ looked up from her coffee and snickered conspiratorially. "Doctor Who is a show about a guy who is not actually doctor…who flies around in a space ship –"

"TARDIS," Penelope squeaked in annoyance, "well, okay, it is a spaceship of sorts but it's referred to as a TARDIS. Nobody calls it a space ship except extreme non-Whovian beings which you obviously are. Sorry, continue." JJ's smile widened and she and Emily shared an amused glance.

"TARDIS," Emily said. She licked her top lip and tried again, "right, so the Doctor and his companion fly around in the TARDIS and they explore time and space it. Got it. And then there's this thing called regeneration?"

"Okay, now why can't Doctor Who just regenerate into the same pers-" JJ thought she sounded quite knowledgeable and educated upon the subject but as soon as she said 'Doctor Who' Garcia gasped and turned towards her with an alarmed expression. "He's not referred to as _Doctor Who, _he is only referred to as _the Doctor_. God, you non-Whovian beings give me a headache. You're lucky I love you so much."

JJ made a mock-offended face and was about to defend her honor as a proud non-whovian when the women turned the corner and ran smack dab into Reid. He looked tousled this morning and seemingly harassed as his chocolate brown hair was frizzy on all sides and his white button up, normally so formal and starch, was wrinkled at the waist. He readjusted the shoulder strap on his satchel and looked between them with darting eyes.

"Reid," JJ said. Before she could stop herself she glanced at Emily. This wasn't the time or the place to talk to Reid about the photos but perhaps she could drop a hint, ask a casual question that would elicit some type of response regarding the pictures. She turned back to Reid, a question gathering on her tongue but one look at Reid's face and the question slipped back down her throat. He was staring at her in fear: pure, unsaturated fear the way a dog would when it sees its death coming in the form of a large, leaden bat. So unblinking, so frightened was his gaze as he stared at her that she took a shuddering breath in. It was almost as if he knew what she was about to ask. She would have had to say something, touch him, put her hand on his tense shoulder if Garcia had not said something that made his eyes widen in an even stronger fear.

"Doctor Reid, you naughty boy," she said, smiling evilly. He turned on her with flashing eyes.

"I'm sorry, what did you say?!" he said quickly. Her smile disappeared and she looked at him in shock. His hands began to ball at the sides of his pants. To Emily he looked like a scared, trapped animal that desperately needed something, some source of comfort to cling to. But what was his source of comfort? Who could possibly wipe away the fear in his eyes at that moment? She stepped towards him and placed her hand on his shoulder. He looked down at her hand in surprise as if he didn't understand that part of her anatomy and then looked up into her face with….what? Recognition? Submission? Something much lighter than the fear that they had seen just a second ago. "Hey, are you okay?" she asked slowly.

"I…I'm fine."

"Look," she said, dropping her voice, "are you sure? Why don't you take a break on this one? You –"

"No, Hotch said it was urgent," Reid said. He picked up his phone to reconfirm - or rather, to put on a show of reconfirming in order to hide his own confused emotions – his statement, "speaking of which we'd better go. The briefing is about to start."

With that he turned and walked away from them, his brow still furrowed as he looked at the screen on his phone. The three women looked at each other, at a loss.

"He looks…pale," Garcia said as they began to follow the sound of his footsteps. She was still a bit disgruntled at having been snapped at so viciously. JJ, noticing this, wrapped her arm around Garcia's waist and smiled.

"When is he not," she whispered. The two women beside her laughed. Hesitantly, their minds still on Reid and his uncomfortable behavior, they began to slip back into Doctor Who and bicker back and forth on whether or not Matt Smith was 'the ideal man.' Yet, in the back of each of their minds they promised themselves, made a solemn swear that they would never, ever talk to either Reid or Morgan about the photos sent. It was obviously an untouchable subject.

xXxXxXx

"Welcome back my fellow bad-ass crime fighting friends to the world of weird, uncomfortable and sometimes _very_ disturbing," Garcia pressed a button on her remote and one of the screens mounted on the wall behind her came to life. Six handsome men looked out at the BAU unit while images of their bloody corpses glowed eerily beside them in a vertical line, "The dead bodies of Alexander McCarthey, Xavier Price, Bobby Rudolph, Terrance MacMillan, James Oh, and Jackie Bronwyn were all found in dumpsters around the San Francisco area. James and Jackie were found last Saturday stuffed in the same dumpster, Terrance and Bobby were found last Wednesday also stuffed in the same dumpster, and Alexander and Xavier were found two weeks ago by a hiker hiking through the forest. They had all been tortured antemortem."

"This Unsub burnt, beat, stabbed, and strangled these men," Rossi said slowly, staring at the file in his hand with disassociated interest. Unbeknownst to the others, his rather brilliant Italian mind was somewhere else completely. Earlier that morning he had received an old-fashioned cassette from an unnamed sender. At first, when he popped it in his equally old-fashioned cassette player, he wasn't sure what to make of the blurred gasps and whispers from the recording but, as the sun rose ever higher and higher outside of his window it became clear to him what he was listening to. How could he mistake the pleasure-laced voices of Reid and Morgan? Calmly, he had tucked the cassette in the deepest recesses of his suitcase and pushed the thought out of his mind. There would be time to look into it later. He put his fingers to his chin, "this guy has a lot of rage."

"That's an understatement," Rossi looked at Reid with amusement, but the young agent was too busy squinting at the photos in his hands to notice, "he didn't just burn them, he used a variety of things to burn them with. See; look at this circular bruise on Bobby's lefts arm. That's a cigarette burn. And this longer one over here looks like it was made by an…iron. And here the skin has been exposed to pure flame."

"Add to that, I'm picking up chains, whips, and elongated periods of restraint. Garcia, how long had the men been tortured before they died?" Emily asked. Garcia's face fell.

"I wish I didn't have to say this, but….they had been tortured for a whole day before they died." Emily's mouth dropped open.

"And he's escalating. The last four victims were found only within a few days of each other. That's why the SFPD has requested our help immediately," Hotch paused and looked around, "has anyone seen Morgan?"

Right at that moment Morgan jogged into the room. He flashed Hotch an apologetic smile. "Sorry I'm late," he said, sitting down, "I had to run Clooney to the hospital. What've I missed?"

For a minute everybody in the room tensed and, unable to help it, looked at Reid to see how he would respond to the appearance of the man that he had (most likely) lost his virginity to. At this point everybody knew, to a certain extent, what had passed between Reid and Morgan and they waited with bated breath to see what would happen now.

Reid looked up and stared at Morgan. The latter seemed not to have noticed that a sudden tension had fallen over the room and went about looking through his files with furrowed brows. At first Reid's face was blank as he watched Morgan flip through his papers. Then slowly he frowned undecidedly as if he were desperately trying to suppress an inner emotion that was trying, with certain violence, to surface. That was when Morgan looked up and straight into his colleague's eyes. His hands froze and his face lost that concentrated look. He looked worried, _genuinely _worried about Reid's state of being. He was going to reach out to him, pull him close, say _something_ to make sure that his young lover was all right but then, just like that, Reid smiled. It wasn't really a smile, it was actually more like a twitch of his lips, but still it seemed as if the concern in Morgan's eyes had unlocked something in Reid. That mysterious emotion broke free and surfaced and he gazed at Morgan placidly, submissively, as if he were an attentive student waiting for a teacher to give a lecture. All of the previous fear, anxiety, and nervousness that the women had sensed in him earlier had just…ebbed away leaving behind the Reid that they all knew. The members of the BAU felt a tremendous weight lift off of their shoulders that they never even knew was there before. Morgan looked around in slight confusion.

"So….we have six men disposed of and murdered in three different…areas," he said slowly as Reid began to rock back and forth in his seat with a contented look on his face, "the unsub stabbed, strangled, burned and beat the victims. Do we have any idea why he's doing this?"

"Not yet. We can discuss possible theories on the plane. Wheels up in –"

"Oh, wait, I forgot to tell you the most interesting part. Each pair of men had traces of each other's….semen….inside of them," Morgan and Reid glanced at each other, "they were forced to have sex with each other before they were tortured and killed."

"The unsub forced these men to have sex with each other as opposed to having sex with them himself? That's different."

"It's actually not, it's…." Reid caught Morgan's eye and quickly looked away. Hotch looked at him with some suspicion, waiting to see if he would finish his sentence but the young genius seemed to suddenly be very interested in a nick on the table. "We can discuss if further on the plane," he said, eyeing his agent, "wheel up in thirty-oh, twenty nine minutes."

The team filed out of the room, muttering quietly about the new development in the case. By the time he reached the bottom of the staircase Morgan was so engrossed in his conversations with Emily that Reid had to tap him quite violently on his shoulder to get his attention. Morgan turned and looked at him in surprise.

"Morgan -" Reid started in a low voice but suddenly something, or rather, someone caught his eye.

He didn't know what it was about the man that made his hackles rise. Years later Morgan would tell him that it was his intuition, his instinct that had made him suddenly spiteful and suspicious of the man and he, stroking his husband's (oops, spoiler) neck would say that it actually was something more _physical_: the way that the man had held one hand tucked comfortably under his paunch, the toad-like smile that seemed to reach his flashing eyes, the way that he moved his wobbling body with such assurance and power. The FBI office had hired the man – Benedict Kardek - about two weeks earlier as an assistant technical analysis to work alongside Garcia but due to budget cuts the directors began to speak of letting him go. Kardek had begged and pleaded to stay and it was with pitiful smiles that the directors let him stay on as 'an assistant, just an assistant.' Then, when that position began to disintegrate they cut him off completely from his career and forced him to work as a janitor for the building. All of this passed through Reid's mind as he watched the man advance towards them.

_Oh, and just so you know, I have nothing to lose here. I lost my wife and unborn child to cancer. My house is about to go into foreclosure. My job has been chipped and eaten at by the government until it was worth nothing more than the dirt at the bottom of my shoe. I lose nothing from the death of Diana Reid. Do you understand me?_

Oh yes, he knew who this man was. He was the start of all of this, the man who made him question his own sexuality, the man who made him lust after Morgan while making him hate him at the same time, the man who threatened to kill his mother, the man –

"Hello, agents."

Morgan turned and looked at the man with certain distaste. "Can I help you?"

"Oh, don't go thinking that you owe me a favor just because I helped _you_, Derek Morgan."

Morgan turned around to face him full in the face with what Reid recognized as the unmistakable signs of anger. He bit his lip. "I'm sorry?"

"Are you really, though?" The man reached into his pocket and pulled out a pink envelope with curly writing on the front, but Morgan was too busy glaring at his pudgy face to notice. "I don't speak riddles," he said slowly and clearly. By now everybody in the building had stopped what they were doing and were now staring at the three men. Seemingly without a care, the man pulled a small silver platter from the inside of his coat.

"Oh, I 'm sorry. I just get…carried away sometimes. I'm happy, like you should be, because I finally brought you two together. Look at him. Look at him agent Morgan," the man lowered his voice and stared at Reid over Morgan's shoulder, "look at how close he's standing to you right now. Do you feel that warm, gentle heat radiating from his body, wrapping around you like tendrils of love? Oh yes, I can see how this relationship is going to work out now. You will always be the guard dog; ready to fight and rip people to shreds if they dare try to touch the venerability of Doctor Reid. And he? He shall be the child; always looking to you for solace, advice, comfort. He shall adore you. He shall stand behind you forever. You will always be…his guardian. But, enough of that," the man licked his fingers and placed the pink envelope smack dab in the middle of the platter. He held it up to Morgan's nose with a sick smile, "we had a promise and I shall honor it. Here is my address, phone number, and birth certificate right here, all in this little envelope. Do with me what you will."

Morgan snatched the envelope from the platter and stuffed it in his pocket. Oh, how he wanted to punch the blatant bastard, really _knock _him to the ground smack him a few times about the face. But Reid….Morgan turned to him with eyes that implored vengeance, the first time, really, that Morgan had ever begged for permission to do something. Reid looked at the man standing before them for a long time before looking up at Morgan.

_No, _his eyes said, _you promised we'd let him go and just forget about him._

"Reid," Morgan whispered (for the people around them had only just gone back to minding their own damn business. There were a few, however, that were still watching them, notably Emily and Hotch.) He tried to convey to Reid the importance, the inner necessity to take revenge on this man. He took a breath in and said with a level voice that ever so faintly quavered with impatience, "this may be evidence for our current case."

"Morgan, we are not the victims," Reid whispered back with equal impatience.

"You're telling me you want to withhold evidence? Spencer, we'd be breaking the _law_…"Reid licked his lips and glanced at the man behind Morgan. It hadn't occurred to him that if this man had anything to do with the current case (which he most likely did) and he, Reid, withheld information about their encounter with him he wouldn't be the only one getting in trouble…he'd be dragging Morgan along with him. A grand sense of obligation began to spill into his heart, making his head pound and his fingers shake. He wanted, no, he needed the dilaudid. He had been able to resist so far but now…but now… He looked up at Morgan in fear. He couldn't…he had to…god, he was just so confused. He swallowed, feeling the tears begin to well up in his eyes.

"Just give me time to think about it," he mouthed silently. Morgan looked at him. After a minute of quiet contemplation he nodded. He turned back to the man. He wanted to say something: a parting threat or a snappy insult but he found that he was too choked up with anger to do so. The man, upon noticing Morgan's lips tightening into a thin line, began to walk away. When he had reached the double doors leading out of the main building Morgan turned to Reid and sighed.

"I'm sorry," Reid mumbled. Morgan shook his head.

"Pretty boy…"

"I know. Never apologize." Reid smiled. "Morgan…"

"Can I speak to you both in my office?"

Both Reid and Morgan looked at Hotch in surprise. His was set and grim and it was with tentative steps that the two men entered his office

"Is everything all right," Morgan asked wearily. He and Reid were lingering awkwardly in the doorway.

"That's what I want to know. If you don't mind, can you close the door?" Reid obeyed and took a seat at Hotch's desk. After some hesitation Morgan followed suit. Hotch folded his hands on a stack of paper and cleared his throat. There was silence.

"Is there anything…" he said slowly, choosing his words carefully, "…that you would like to tell me?"

"Regarding…what, may I ask?" Hotch took a breath in, still staring at his hands.

"Just…" he looked up at Morgan, "…anything at all."

_Tick tock tick tock._ Oh, how Morgan would grow to hate the sound of a clock ticking. To him, increments of time never implied time passing. It implied a waiting period. What would happen during the next tick? What event did the future tock hold? There were to be thousands of ticks and tocks in this life, most of which were pregnant with pain and suffering. His hand wrapped around the hot pink envelope in his pocket. Now, of all times, was the time to tell the truth. He had been given an opening, he knew, to set things straight in his own way. He could see Reid begin to blush out of the corner of his eye. Undoubtedly Hotch had noticed this to and he was watching him with concerned interest.

"Spencer…Derek?"

Morgan closed his eyes and clenched his teeth together. The envelope in his pocket was damp with sweat. He could do it. He could tell all. He opened his eyes.

"No, Hotch. Everything's fine." Hotch looked at him in surprise. He certainly wasn't expecting that answer and neither was Reid, apparently. They both looked at Morgan in shocked silence.

"Reid?" Hotch turned to Reid. The younger agent jumped and looked at him as if he were on the other side of a glass wall.

"Like he said," smiling faintly, "We're fine. Everything is completely fine."

"You know, if you need to take a break-"

"No, no, Hotch, I want to work on this case. I mean," Reid looked at Morgan with suppressed relief, "I really want to get to the bottom of this one. I find it very…_intriguing._"

Hotch stared at him. The kid was _very _relieved; there was no doubt about it. Hotch could tell from the way that he kept glancing at Morgan that he definitely wanted his older counterpart to be just as relieved and light-hearted as he was but Morgan remained pensive, quiet. _I can't force them to speak_, Hotch thought, eyeing the ball in Morgan's pocket, _but maybe over time_…He'd just have to keep an eye on things, that was all. He just hoped that the two men realized that they were working with a team of profilers . Sooner or later the truth was bound to surface and boil over. And then…

_I'll just have to be there for both of them when it does. Reid especially_. Hotch raised his eyebrows. "Well, I hope you're both fast packers. Wheels up in twenty two…" he glanced at his watch, "…twenty minutes."

The two men nodded and exited the office, closing the door behind them. For a while they walked together in silence through the busy building until they reached a shining linoleum corridor leading to an elevator. Morgan pressed the 'up' button and placed both hands in his pockets.

"I don't know how long we can do this kid…"

"Sooner or later there's going to be a break in the case that'll let us know whether or not Kardek is relevant to-"

"I'm not talking about Kardek."

Reid pushed out his bottom lip. "Oh. Then who are you talking about?"

"Us, Reid."

_Ding_.

The elevator doors slid open.

"What about us?"

"Come on, kid, you know damn well '_what about us_'."

"Do I?"

_Ding._

The doors slid close.

"Hey, you can't use psychology on me."

"What, because I have a higher advantage?" Morgan laughed.

"Can you say _vanity_? Oh…right, you have that super high IQ, don't you? You can probably say it in six different languages."

_Ding. _

The doors slid open.

"Seven, actually: Dutch, Swahili, Belarusian, Russian, French, Spanish, and Norwegian."

"How…ah, I'm not even gonna ask. But listen. You and I…we have some talking to do."

"About what?"

_Ding._

"Well, you definitely weren't what the Tom Tom club had in mind when they wrote Genius of Love."

"Oh, it's love we're talking about? Morgan…there may not be…I haven't even decided yet."

"Spencer," Morgan said as the elevator doors slid open in front of them, "that door must have opened and closed six times in front of us and we didn't even notice it. That feels something like love to me."

The two men stepped in the elevator and stood in silence. Reid tightened his grip on his shoulder strap and pursed his lips. Morgan realized, with a certain annoyance, that this meant that the conversation was over. "How did you meet Kardek, anyway?" he asked, just to lighten the tension.

"He just called me out of the blue," Reid said, staring at the flashing numbers that indicated which floor they were on. Six…five…four..."he said he was at my mother's institution and that if I didn't do what he said he would kill her. He took a photo - it was at an odd angle so I knew he was doing it in secret - and sent it to me. That was all the proof I needed to drive over to your house and…" his hands tightened around the strap even harder. He wanted to get out of the elevator, for now he was experiencing a new type of tension, a _sexual_ tension at being confined in a small space, so close to the man who had just proposed his love to him. It was only right to give Morgan a yes or no answer then and there (he deserved that much) but Reid was so confused, so bombarded with foreign emotions that all he could do was stand there rigid like a statue or a dummy. God, he wanted to kiss Morgan: kiss those lips and silence those words of love forever. For that was it: he wanted Morgan's love yet he feared it at the same time. Standing there, so close to Morgan, he realized what that fear was. He realized that he was scared that he might do something wrong that, if he allowed himself to open up to Morgan, the man would be disgusted by his vulnerable nature and anti-social ways. He needed to get out. Three…two…

"Pretty boy…"

"Don't call me that."

"….Reid. Look, I'm sorry if I-"

"I gotta go."

_Ding_. The doors slid open. Reid re-shouldered his bag and speed-walked out of the elevator for he knew that if he stayed with Morgan any longer he would burst…or, rather, spontaneously combust, because scientifically that was more probable.

"Reid!" Morgan called, but the young man did not look back. Morgan sighed and slumped against the wall of the elevator. The doors slid shut.

xXxXXx

**Author's Note: Excuse any grammatical errors. I was really excited to get this chapter out and didn't feel like spending a copious amount of time editing and re-editing. One day I'll come to this story and do a massive re-edit, though. I think, as a writer and a Criminal Minds watcher, it's really fascinating to explore Reid's vulnerability and inner fears in the face of society or, more specifically, his team. I mean, Morgan is so alpha-maleish so he doesn't give a damn about what others think, he only cares about Reid, but….okay, okay, I'm done. On to the next chapter! Keep your reviews coming! I love them.**


	6. A Dialogue Spoken in Secret

A Dialogue Spoken in Secret

"…hello? Hello? Are you there? Buddy? Oh, come now, when someone calls you you _have_ to try and make it a point of saying hello when they –"

"Benedict."

"Aw, I thought we decided to use codenames."

"Waste of time. Childish. Ridiculous. How are they?"

"Well…well…things _are_ progressing. There is…there seems to be….well…let's just say they're not progressing as fast as I would have liked…but it _has_ only been two days since they…."

"Tell me about the Doctor. I want…blatant facts, Benedict, or how else am I supposed to help you help them?"

"Well, you want the truth? I'll tell you the truth. The kid…the Doctor, ah, he doesn't know what to think. He finds comfort and solace in him; there is no doubt about that. You should see the way that he follows after him, as happy as a…I don't know…an abused puppy that has finally found a kind owner, I should say. And then there are those little shared looks. Hmmm…no…no…he doesn't just love him - the kid _lusts_ after him or, at least, he wants another taste of that chocolate prick. Who wouldn't?"

"The Doctor…needs him, then?"

"The boy knows that he will do him some good. The boy knows that he can save him from himself. But…he is scared, that's all. I don't think he's ever felt these feelings before. I mean, if you look at him he is the perfect picture of insecurity and anti-social ways. Give him time."

"And the man. The black man. What was his name?"

"Agent Derek Morgan,"

"Lovely name. What does he feel towards the Doctor?"

"Oh, he _cherishes_ the Doctor but I can see that he's trying to hide it so that the young genius won't be scared off. Like I said, let's give them some time and sooner or later they will-"

"No. No. They may die tomorrow never knowing the true extent of the other's love. Time is so precious….so vulnerable when you're in love with somebody."

"Right…hey…is everything all right? You sound...uncomfortable."

"Ah, when did we decide that we would start caring about each other's feelings? I'm merely granting you a favor in light of the fact that Elisha…never mind. They are still coming here, to San Francisco, yes? The BAU team."

"Yes."

"Good. I want you to come here to."

"But-"

"Do it in secret. Make up your own excuse. I want you to trail them, the Doctor and the other man, and report back to me. If they begin to stray from each other or show signs of discontent towards one another….don't worry, I'll take care of them."

"Take _care _of them? Oh, come now, let's not…get too serious here. Hey? What _do_ you plan to do if they end up not loving each other?"

"Make them love each other."

"And if they don't? Sammy…a janitor in the BAU office tends to hear things about open cases. There were men, Sammy, who had been tortured and dumped in trashcans. They had traces of each other's semen on them. That….that wasn't you, Samuel, right? Why are you laughing?"

"Call me when you get to San Francisco. I have some other things that I'd like to discuss with you."


	7. A Letter to Diana

[Excerpt from a letter to Diana Reid, written by Spencer Reid]

…I get really tired sometimes. But this isn't the regular kind of fatigue; it's more of an affiliation of my will to go on living the life that I have. I mean, I guess you can say that it manifests itself in physical tiredness, but that's nothing new. The point is I'm tired of _something _and I just don't know what that something is yet. Maybe I'm tired of being so alone all of the time. Maybe I'm tired of being Doctor Spencer Reid: the Twenty Six Year Old Genius who spends all of his Time Pouring over Manuscripts on Neurological Developments and Serial Killers instead of Actually Interacting on an Independent Social Level. Maybe I don't want to be Doctor Reid anymore because Doctor Reid doesn't know what it feels like to…never mind.

I think that one of the valiant knights that I have written to you about – Derek Morgan, the one with the telling eyebrows and knowing smile – may have the solution to my problem. Actually, he may _be_ the solution. I wish I could tell you more, mom, but I don't understand it myself. I don't really understand what's wrong with me…well, I do on a psychological level but otherwise I can't classify or analyze this new feeling so naturally I can't even begin to understand the solution. All I know is that there is one out there and Derek Morgan has something to do with it.

I know it may seem like I'm holding some things back but the fact of the matter is I'm scared, mom. I'm so scared. I'm scared of the things that have happened to me in the past, I'm scared of the things that will happen to me in the future, and most of all I'm scared of facing everything alone. I have you but I don't have you by my side every day and I'm the one to blame for that. Out here in Quantico I'm perpetually alone. I have the rest of my team but there's only so far they can go when it comes to babysitting me and dealing with all of my problems. But with Derek Morgan it's different. He's like the light at the end of this dark tunnel. But he's so bright and I'm so afraid. What if crawling out of this tunnel is the wrong choice? What if I was meant to be Doctor Spencer Reid: the Child that Lives in Solitude? I don't mean to overwhelm you but you're my mother and to you I will always look for wisdom and comfort.

I don't know. I'm lost, Diana, and not in the usual way.

I will always be yours truly,

Spencer Reid

[Letter to Spencer Reid, written by Diana Reid]

Spencer, you're in love with a man and you need to learn how to say it.

Would it come to you as a surprise if I told you that I knew something was awakened in you by this man ever since you sent me your very first letter? You'd always described him differently than the rest. You'd describe his facial features and the way that he laughed as if you were reliving a certain moment instead of describing a picture. And then you would always speak of his demeanor towards you in a childishly dismissive manner unlike the others whom you've always felt so obligated towards. I used to think that you spoke like this solely because you saw him as a guardian figure or someone to look up to but now I know it's much more than that.

Don't worry baby, I'm not ashamed or disgusted with you. I'm quite satisfied that you've finally found someone in your life who will take my place as a wisdom and comfort provider when I'm gone. Now, believe it or not, Spencer, I know a thing or two about love. When you really love someone for the first time you try to deny and ignore the feeling for as long as possible. Then when that barrier breaks and you are able to admit to yourself that you are in love and that you want love every word exchanged with the person that you are in love with is quite fulfilling. But enough. I have a seminar in ten minutes and, as always, I expect to see you there with all of your materials read.

Diana Reid

P.S. Rumi once said, "lovers don't finally meet somewhere. They're in each other all along." Denial and fear may act as a temporary shield, Spencer, but when faced with the truth and the inevitable they are bound to fall apart. I have absolute faith in you and Derek Morgan.


	8. Morgan's Impulse

**Author's Note: Really quick, I'd like to thank everybody who has read and reviewed this story thus far, especially Marcallie, XxZessxX, Jenny Crum, Dcatt, and Delia Cerrano. You guys, along with season two of Criminal Minds and good music, keep me inspired :) Also, if you have read my other Criminal Minds story Angela you know that I swiped the first two passages of this story from the third or fourth chapter of that one. What can I say? I find it fitting!**

A lone plane drifted lazily through the sky, occasionally dipping its rigid wings to lightly skim the mists below. At times a ray or two of sunlight would break through the clouds and paint the slowly gliding plane a lovely lemonade yellow, then, quick as it appeared, the color was wiped away and replaced with blue, white, or sleepy gray as the clouds passed by overhead.

Reid watched all of this through the tiny window as he idly turned over in his head the reasons why an exposure to serotonin at birth leading to the birth of a psychopath was a trait, not just a cause. He was having one of his rare moments in life where he felt quite content and at peace with himself. He knew, however, that this feeling of contentment was not to last so, frowning slightly, he tried to force himself to stay in that moment for just a little bit longer. Besides him, in the plane, there was Morgan, who currently had his legs stretched out in front of him and was looking for all the world like the slick alpha male figure that he was, Prentiss who had her head resting on her palm and looked as if she were about to (or greatly wanted to) dose off, Rossi, Hotch, and JJ (the last two being deeply engrossed in the crime scene photos.) Rossi sighed.

"What I don't get," he said thoughtfully as he walked down the aisle to his seat having just made a fresh cup of coffee, "is why the unsub forced these men to have sex with each other."

"He could be impotent," Morgan said, "That would explain why he used a knife as part of his torture act. The guy's probably frustrated with them and himself."

"But that's just it. He seems almost _too_ frustrated. He tortured these men for a whole day before killing them. That screams something more than impotence."

"Okay, maybe he needs something from them? Approval...information…oh, what if he wants them to confess something?" Reid broke out of his daydream and looked at Emily. He was going to throw a quick glance at Morgan to see if the man was having the same thought as he but, thankfully, before he could Hotch pressed a button on the laptop and the screen came to life.

"Garcia, I need you to check and see if any of the victims knew each other." He said to the blur of pink feathers and multicolored trinkets onscreen. The woman began to type furiously.

"All right-y, sir, already on it…well…it looks like James Oh, Jackie Bronwyn, Bobby Rudolph, and Terrance MacMillan were all attending the same university at the time and…oh! Alexander McCarthey and Xavier Price were visiting from Arizona."

"Any other overlap?"

"No, it doesn't look like…wait, four of the victims were regular patrons of an unnamed bar in downtown San Francisco. Alexander McCarthey and Xavier Price had only just started visiting it a week before their death."

"All right, I'll need you to send us the address,"

"Already on your phones,"

"In medieval times torture was mainly used as an act of punishment or humiliation for major and minor offenses as opposed to being a way to extract information from someone. Usually a person withholding information was shown the tools of torture as a way of scaring them into speaking - or were subjected to a much lighter form of torture - and confessed before being put on something excruciatingly painful like the Rack or the Iron Maiden."

"So you don't think this unsub wanted a confession from his victims," Reid tensed under Emily's gaze. Whywas she staring at him like that? Why did she just…_have_ to do that? It was almost as if she was searching for a _subliminal_ message hidden beneath his words. Of course, Emily had no such intentions but by this time Reid's paranoia had reached an uncomfortably high level. He glared at her, unintentionally striking a defensive barrier between she and his emotions. She raised an eyebrow at him. "I'm…I'm just stating facts," he said, also raising his eyebrows.

"Reid may have a point," Morgan said, sitting up in his seat "one of these victims were bound to crack under such intense torture. Then we would have seen a variation in either the disposal method or the torture itself. I mean, come on, guys. Seriously, what's the chance that all six of these men were able to withstand being burned, strangled, beaten, and stabbed for a whole day if the unsub had offered them a way out in the form of a confession?"

"Morgan's right…" Hotch suddenly remembered that there was a sixth agent on the plane that hadn't said anything at all. He turned and looked at JJ who had her hand on her chin was staring fixedly at the photos in her hand. She looked so studious and intent on something that he feared disturbing her lest she lose her train of thought, but he was curious to know what had caught her attention. "JJ?" he said gently. She straightened up, still looking at the crime scene photos in her hand. "Is it just me or do Jackie Bronwyn, Bobby Rudolph, and Xavier Price look kind of alike?" She passed the photos around. The other agents tilted their photos (and heads) this way and that but could find no resemblance in the men whatsoever. They looked back up at her with suspicion. JJ, noticing the look on their faces, chuckled impatiently. "Okay, I admit they don't necessarily _look alike_ but they do have similar physical traits: straight black hair that stops right above their ears…um…brown eyes, small lips, slight builds…I didn't think much of it until I took a closer look at the other three victims-"

"Green eyes, brown hair down to the jawline, medium builds," Reid broke in, "Garcia, can you tell me exactly which victims had the traces of semen in them?" Garcia took a breath in and began to type furiously again.

"It's an icky, sticky business, my friend," she paused suddenly and began to blush madly, "oh god, I did not mean it in that way, I'm so sorry, see, seeing images like this every day really start to mess with my otherwise relatively innocent, geeky, nerd –"

"The victims, Garcia,"

"Right, sorry, um, Jackie Bronwyn, Bobby Rudolph, and Xavier Price had the…stuff…inside of them…"

"And the semen was from James Oh, Terrance MacMillan, and Alexander McCarthey – in that order – correct?"

"Correct, boy genius."

"Reid, what are you getting at?"

"I think this unsub is a recreating specific scene, in this case a specific sexual scene. There's a pattern to it! In each case a certain body type would be the receptor of the sexual act while the other – if you look at the body type, the more dominant one – would essentially be the leader in the sexual act…the giver, if you will."

"But what does it mean," Morgan said, looking at Reid. Reid pursed his lips.

"It could mean that the unsub sees himself in one of the partners or he is trying to recreate a scene in which he humiliates someone or a set of people that he knows or once knew."  
"That would explain the torture." JJ said. Hotch nodded. There was a silence in which the members of the BAU meditated, in their own personal ways, on the onslaught of new speculations and theories. Who was this unsub? What exactly was he trying to achieve? Had he really been wronged or was his vendetta purely visionary? And what about that bar that each of the victims had frequented? Could the victims have met the unsub there?

"Rossi and I will set up at the field office. Emily, you and Morgan go and visit the bar. JJ and Reid, you talk to the families of the victims."

The agents nodded and began to wiggle into more comfortable positions. Whenever Hotch assigned them specific duties they knew that the discussion was over and there was nothing more to do except wait for the plane to land. Now they had a few hours of relaxation and quiet before the real dirty work began. Most of their cases usually ended in grief, gore, or suicide so, under an unspoken agreement, the agents did not disturb each other and let their fellow colleagues do whatever it took to collect themselves in this time of peace and quiet. Rossi began scribbling in a small leather-bound notebook, Hotch gazed out of the window and thought about Haley and Jack, Emily rested the palm of her hand against her cheek and fell into a light sleep, and JJ still gazed at the crime scene photos: not really seeing them, just thinking far away, self-soothing thoughts. Reid was about to close his eyes and slip back into his serotonin-filled thoughts when suddenly his cellphone beeped. He dug the device out of his pocket and looked at the screen without much goodwill. _You have one new message_, it proclaimed in heavily pixelated black letters. He clicked the okay button.

Derek Morgan: You can't keep doing that, kid.

Reid looked up and glared across the aisle at Morgan who was looking back at him in an annoyingly peaceful way, his cellphone held limply in his hands. Reid looked back down and typed his reply.

Spencer Reid: Do what?

Derek Morgan: Sway the case away from a plausible theory. You know the confession theory made sense.

Spencer Reid: I wasn't swaying anything! I was just stating a fact! Why would I sway the case?

Derek Morgan: Because you know deep down that what happened to those men is similar to what happened to us and if we find out that there are more similarities then we'll have to tell the team about what we were forced to do. Sure, we weren't tortured for a whole day beforehand but you have to admit - it has the same feel to it.

Spencer Reid: Then if your psychoanalysis of me is true then why did you agree with me and sway it even further?

Reid snapped his phone shut with a loud _clack_ (the other agents looked at him in alarm) and stared at Morgan with a triumphant look on his face. Surely, _surely _Morgan had lost this round. The big, bad alpha male thought he could toy with Reid's mind and psychologically judge everything that he said as if he were a victim but, in helping to lead the team away from the theory that the unsub wanted a confession, Morgan was only contradicting himself. Reid actually smiled. He was quite enjoying having the one-up on Morgan for once in his life. Morgan, however, had not moved at all. He just looked at Reid from across the aisle with that same pensive look. He had the answer to Reid's question – his fingers itched to type it out on the keyboard – but something stopped him from doing so. He was tired of the tension between he and Reid and he was tired of the friction that it was beginning to cause in their relationship. For once in his life, he did not feel like having the one-up on Reid. Besides, he was quite enjoying the tiny smile of satisfaction on Reid's face (although he was desperately trying to hide it.) Morgan looked down and typed something on his phone.

Derek Morgan: Goodnight, Reid.

Spencer read the message and then looked up in confusion. Morgan was fast asleep (or was pretending to be, anyway) with his hands tucked comfortably beneath his cheek. For a second the young agent was torn between being angry at Morgan's lack of response and basking in the residue of his miniature triumph. In the end the latter won out and he settled himself comfortably in the chair in a way that let him stare at the other agent to his heart's content without the others noticing. He didn't really want to fight with Morgan anymore. That's not to say that he didn't mind an irritable banter or two but he, too, felt that the tension left between them was just…an obstacle in whatever was to happen to their relationship. He smiled and unconsciously mirrored Derek's position. _Look away, Spencer, look away_, he told himself as he stared at the sleeping agent. But his eyes simply would not listen so, after five minutes of trying to get himself to think about something else, he succumbed to his infallible urges and allowed himself to get lost in the peaceful serenity, the perfectly sensual curves and edges of Morgan's face.

Needless to say, Reid had found his happy place.

**Author's Note: Happy Holidays, by the way! Just a fair warning, this chapter and the chapter following might be a little slow seeing as I have to set up the case but, I promise you this, things are going to start speeding up in a really fun way (just wait until Reid goes missing…ah, damn my spoiler mouth!) I was a little conflicted about Reid's medieval statement because I'm not sure how true it is. I did my research and it would seems as if I'm both right and wrong in saying that Medieval torture was used mainly as a punishment and humiliation tool. Hm, still skeptical, though. Anyway, happy holidays again! This chapter is my present to you!**


	9. Rainstorm Eyes

How had it come to this?

She didn't know what she had been expecting when she became the director of the SFPD, but it definitely wasn't _this_. She had done her research and knew that vicious serial killers had plagued the streets of San Francisco for many years but she had never really given much thought to the possibility that she would be dealing with them so soon. Of course, it was irrational to think that killings such as the ones that she had read about would just stop when she became director but her faith in humanity had forced her to believe that serial killers would at least give her time to settle into her new position for at least little while longer.

So how had it all come to this?

She sighed and pushed the hair away from her face in frustration. Two weeks, _two weeks_ into the job and she was already dealing with an extraordinarily difficult case. Yet again, she wanted nothing more than to prove herself to the snickering suits on top who thought that a young, pretty woman with ambition was something to be pardoned instead of taken seriously so she promised herself that she would do whatever it took to solve this case with a flourish, if possible. The first two nights she spent alone in her tiny apartment chugging down coffee and nibbling at stale pieces of buttered bread as her eyes wearily scanned over the summary of the crime scene. At the time, she had been able to form seventeen theories about the unsub but nothing seemed to connect and when she ruled out one theory she only succeeded in coming up with another. She spent four more nights like this, her eyes getting redder and her will slowly diminishing until she was so chalk full of contradicting theories that she felt that she might explode. It was time to bring someone in, she knew, or else more men would end up dead and she could not have that. When she had informed her superiors that she wanted to bring in the BAU they had smiled sadly at her from behind clasped hands.

"Having some trouble solving the case?" one had asked with his bottom lip poking out.

"I've solved it in twenty-three different ways. I just need someone to help me rule some things out," she had responded with a cocked eyebrow.

After a long and unnecessary meeting the men had assented and the woman had returned to her office filled with anger mixed with apprehension to look over her files one more time before the members of the BAU arrived. The woman that she had spoken to on the phone sounded gentle and reassuring but still she could not keep a sense of loathing from rising in her heart. She had heard tales about how the members of the BAU tended to be vain, power-hungry, and utterly useless and she did not need a bunch of pompous ragdolls hanging around the place, especially now.

She got up, stretched, and walked to the window overlooking the rest of the office. _Yet again_, she thought sleepily as she watched the other employees scuttle about the room, _a few extra pairs of eyes would be nice, even if they do belong to a bunch ragdolls. _Suddenly the elevator doors adjacent to her officer slid open and two men clad in casual suits stepped out. The woman tensed and folded her arms across her chest. Admittedly, she was a bit intrigued albeit wary of these men who strolled with such purpose and assurance through the building so she continued to watch them for a second or two before forcing herself to turn away from the window and leave the muggy comfort of her office

"Angelica Walkers," she said grandly, extending her hand out to the nearest man. He clasped it professionally and shook twice. "You two must be members of the BAU?" The man nodded.

"Aaron Hotchner. This is David Rossi," she smiled and nodded at the bristly Italian man who nodded back with a pert smile. He was ready to get to business, she knew, and so was his partner. She liked that.

"Pleasure. I thought there'd be more of you?"

"Agents Morgan, Prentiss, Reid, and Jareau are already on the field."

"Already?" she said, raising her eyebrows. "I wasn't expecting…" she stopped and cleared her throat. _I wasn't expecting you to jump into it so fast. I wasn't expecting you to jump into anything without my permission._ For a minute the older of the two men looked at her as if he were reading her thoughts. There was a question in his eyes, keen and attentitve, and she felt that he would accept either of her answers with respect. Buried beneath that (this was where her instincts took the reins) there was an apology: a sincere, humbling apology. She smiled, signaling her assent.

"Let's continue at lightning speed. I've had a room set up over here," she said, speed walking down the hall with the two men close at her heels, "Ms. Jareau said that you'd need a whiteboard, case files, maybe coffee- the whole shebang, so –" she stopped at an impressive looking office space surrounded on three sides with glass walls. "this should do it."

"Wow," the Italian man said, looking around at the sparkling shelves and glittering glass walls, "it's like something out of a crime scene TV show."

"Yeah, a while ago there was a proposition to make all of the walls glass, but the younger employees were against it. There was something about the walls being see-through that they didn't agree with," she smiled. Then slowly her eyes traveled over the board where various pictures of the victims had been tacked up and the smile faded from her face. "Why do you think he's doing this?" she asked Aaron Hotchner, who was surveying the board with furrowed brows. He pulled his hand away from his chin.

"Hard to be sure. We have several theories, none of which seem to rule out the others."

"Same here," she cleared a space at the table and sat down, "let's cross-reference what we have and see if we can find a definite base. That, then, will be a strong step towards catching this son of a bitch."

"Sounds good to me," Rossi said, sitting down next to her. Hotch took the seat opposite them and flipped open one of the folders. "What do you have so far?"

"Twenty-three theories," she said, squinting at the board. Suddenly she froze. "Damn…make that twenty four."

xXxXxXx

"Okay," Emily stepped out of the car and regarded her surroundings with interest. Most other agents would have begun their investigation by asking questions and pulling out badges but Emily Prentiss wasn't like most other agents. Due to instinct and to BAU training she started out by discarding her identity and imagining herself to be one of the rough-looking patrons that streamed in and out of the small bar: thus enabling herself to step into the victim's shoes. Now, instead of seeing with her own eyes she was looking through the eyes of the dead victims as they had seen this place before their death, "an unnamed bar on the outskirts of the city. What does that tell me?"

"Well, no name, no attention. The fact that this bar is out in the middle of nowhere with no flashy advertisements in the bigger part of the town tells me that this is a place where I can splurge and indulge without the rest of the city watching," Morgan came and stood next to her, his dark sunglasses flashing in the sun. The men around him sneered and mumbled as they passed by him. They weren't used to seeing confident, well-built, finely dressed men in this area and neither did they want to. But one look into those finely polished sunglasses and a sense of ease spread over them. Morgan wasn't looking to cause any trouble (yet) and though most of the men wanted nothing more than to give him a good shove in the chest they respected relaxed facial expression and dismissively inquisitive body language. The woman, though, did make them slightly uncomfortable and they were quick to divert their eyes when she turned their way.

"The building's unpainted and generally unkempt. This also tells me that this is a place where I don't have to look or act my best. No female patrons," Emily said thoughtfully, watching as a young man in overalls turned away from her so fast that his hat fell off, "signals that there's no competition. Here a man can relax without having to worry about keeping up an alpha male front." She coughed and waved her hand in front of her face, "you can stand this? There's dust everywhere!"

What she said was true. The parking lot where standing was really nothing more than a small block of land covered in fine yellow dust that rose and swirled about every time a beat up truck or grimy car drove in. There was nothing to be seen for miles around except for fields covered in rolling grass that glinted silver in the sunlight. Morgan looked at her and smiled. "Hey, when I was kid I was either out shooting hoops," Morgan made the according motion with his hands which Emily could not see due to her temporary blindness, "or rolling around in the fields with my friends. This is nothing new to me."

"Yeah, well when I was a kid my mom made me study geography maps and foreign newspapers. Ugh, maybe it will be better inside."

Unfortunately, this was not true. The two agents had been expecting to find it noisy and crowded but instead the patrons of the bar seemed to be in a sort of zoned-out state. The air was pregnant with sleepy contentment and in some corner of the small room a radio was playing giddy country song, giving the bar a very dreamlike feel. Here and there young men with tired faces and haggard smiles crowded around mugs of beer and spoke in low voices while others leaned back against walls or chairs and stared into space with far away looks. A heavy smoke hung in the air, making Emily both dizzy and tired.

"I'm seeing signs of upper, middle, and lower class gathering here…"

"The perfect hunting ground for an unsub," Morgan whispered back. He pulled out his badge and flipped it open in the face of a nearby patron, "Agents Morgan and Prentiss. We're looking for the owner of this bar."

"That would be me."

A thin man carrying a wash cloth and a grimy glass sidled up behind the counter, seemingly having come out of nowhere. Suddenly, everything seemed to go in slow motion for Morgan: the clock ceased to tick, the hushed voices of the men around him faded into a fuzzy murmur, and his heart beat extra loud as he turned slowly to face the man. As he did, a sense of loathing, pure, tar-black loathing welled up in his heart. The rainstorm-grey eyes that met his sent a shiver through his body as if he had been forced to swallow a dozen shards of frosty glass. Something about this man made him sick with hatred, dizzy with distrust and it took every ounce of his strength not to reach across the counter and wipe off the smile that was slowly, ever so slowly forming on the man's lips. Morgan knew this feeling: he had felt it only once before. It was the feeling of the naked prey as it looked up and into a hunter's eyes.

"Derek…Morgan…" the man said with obvious relish, a hint of humor slipping off of his tongue. The man couldn't have been more than twenty years old yet he spoke with the slow assurance of a man who had lived on the earth for a thousand years.. _I know you, but you don't know me_, his unblinking eyes seemed to say, _I know something that you don't. _For a second Reid's face – so inquisitive and pure – flashed across his mind's eye but he quickly pushed it away. The thought of his young, naïve lover in comparison to this…_thing _was a contradiction that his mind could not bear. One more second and he would have pulled out his gun but Emily, sensing the growing tension, was quick to intervene.

"Um, we need to ask you a few question about a couple of men who visited your bar," Emily quickly slid the photos of the victims across the counter, throwing a quick warning glance at Morgan as she did, "do you remember them?"

For a second it seemed as if the man was simply going to ignore her and stare at Morgan but, as it was, he pulled his eyes away from Morgan's face with reluctance and glanced at the photos. He shrugged.

"They look like all of the other men that walk into this bar."

"Yeah, well these six ended up dead and dumped in trash cans around the city. And guess where they were last seen? Here," Morgan leaned in closer and began to whisper, "Right now you're looking _really _suspicious and unless you want me to drag your ass back to the station in front of all of these people I suggest you start trying to remember just a little bit more." The man fidgeted and looked up at Morgan in mock surprise. Though he was sufficiently younger than the two agents and held a much lighter bearing he did not seem nervous or afraid. He just seemed slightly interested and turned on by Morgan's threatening tones judging by the way that his hand jumped to his thigh. Emily, meanwhile, was looking at Morgan with a look of disbelief.

"Morgan!" she hissed. She turned to the man with an apologetic look on her face, "I'm sorry. It's just that anything helps, Mr...?"

"Just…Samuel,"

"We're going to need a full name." The man glanced up at her with a look filled with hatred before tuning his eyes back towards the photos.

"Samuel Fidel," he scrutinized each photo in turn and subsequently flicked them aside with careless fingers, "all that I can say is that they were like the rest: they kept to themselves, got a little bit tipsy, and stayed close to each other the whole time."

"Stayed close to each other? What do you mean?"

The man sighed and began to spot clean the glass in his hand as if he had become bored with the two agents. "Every once in a while you'll get a pair of men who will walk in here arm in arm like lovers and then, when the beer is gone and the lights have faded, they walk out arm and arm again. You get it a lot in a place like this where there are no women," he stopped and gazed scornfully at Emily, "the men don't feel a need to put up their dukes and fight against their best friend all because some gazelle passes by. Here, they can be as free as they want and have as much fun as they want with each other. Some of them might as well have been lovers. These six, I remember now. They were no exception. They were closer than anything."

"So you think that they were lovers, then?"

"No, just friends. They made that crystal clear when they were talking to me. But, hey," suddenly he looked up and his piercing grey eyes looked right into Morgan's, "some people live their whole lives afraid to admit that they love someone. But by the time that they're ready it will be too late."

Suddenly there was a twinge in the air that made even Emily uncomfortable. "Right, well," she cleared her throat and looked at Morgan who had suddenly gone rigid, "if we have any more questions we'll come and see you or you can call us if you remember something else. Here's my card."

With that she turned and pulled Morgan out of the bar. She heard jubilant laughter behind her that sounded as if it had come from the young bartender but still she did not stop walking until she reached the car.

"That man in there-"

"Morgan, what the hell was that?"

"Excuse me?"

"I could barely ask that guy a question without you glaring at him or threatening him as if he were the unsub!"

"For all we know, he might be."

"You know what I mean."

He stared at her in silence, an unreadable expression on his face. The people around them continued to talk to each other and meander about in small groups as if the two agents staring each other down was nothing new. A particularly large truck drove in and sent up a cloud of dust but neither of them seemed care. "You know…"Emily said, watching him carefully, "both you and Reid have been acting-"

"Emily."

She stopped and stared at him in surprise. Never before had she seen her friend look so weary and troubled. The once so proud alpha male seemed to struggle under the weight of something unspoken, leaving him a distant and on-edge person that she did not know. Suddenly, she remembered the pictures.

_So this is what Derek Morgan looks like when he's in love_, she thought, her heart giving an extra leap, _that's why he responded that way when the bartender told him that__some people live their whole lives afraid to admit that they love someone. He loves Reid, but he's too chicken to say it. _She smiled. She would have laughed if only Morgan wasn't looking so crushed. What she did not know, however, was that she had only reached part of the conclusion for Samuel's words had sparked a different sort of fear in his heart.

"Let's go and tell the other's what we've found," she said, signaling that she was willing to drop the subject. But Morgan was only half-listening. His mind was on the silvery-grey eyes of the bartender and the little pink envelope still stuffed in his pocket.

**Author's Note: Another chapter finished! Sorry it took so long. I was originally going to make this a double update, but I was having writer's block on the next chapter so I decided to just post this one while I work the other one out. Don't worry: Angelica Walkers isn't going to be one of those characters that suddenly become super important and dominate the whole story. I just need her to set in motion a certain chain of events. Happy reading!**


	10. Panic

Part One

Many people liked to joke that Doctor Spencer Reid fit the stereotype of an insane genius to a tee. "Add a few more wrinkles and whiter hair and you'll be a modern day Einstein," they liked to tell him. Of course, they would then go on to apologize, thinking that part of being an insane genius meant being extra sensitive to humor and puns. But they didn't know the truth.

Reid wasn't an insane genius. He was just…a very dedicated one.

Sometimes he was uncomfortable with how intelligent he was compared to other people. Not to say that he was a vain man, but it would be stupid of him not to notice the fact that the things that he said and did, and the results that they had, did sometimes, rival the things done, said, and set in motion by Einstein. That's why he sometimes felt the need to silence himself in the presence of others. This silence was often dismissed as him being pensive or (and this is what really stung) _antisocial _when in truth he often wanted nothing more than to tap the nearest person on the shoulder and engage them in a conversation about infinity or the psychological effect that the dominant society had on their humanity. But he couldn't do that, he knew, for if he did he would only get a pitying or amused stare in response.

And so he would always remain an antisocial genius to the outside world.

But sometimes the word 'dedicated' just wasn't strong enough.

If anybody had walked into his hotel room at that very moment they would have been surprised to find the desks and drawers covered in wrinkled papers , diagrams of the human brain (quickly etched out in red pen,) and mathematical equations written in pencil on the edges of travel brochures. They would have found him bent over a lamp lit desk, his hair falling about his face as he quickly scribbled out something that looked suspiciously like Elven writing. They would have stumbled upon the picture of a True Genius.

Earlier that day he and JJ had gone out to question the victim's families. As usual, he stood patiently in the background with his hands clasped behind his back as JJ, with an air of solemnity and profession that he had always admired, explained the reason why they were there. Nobody doubted Reid's capability of delivering the same introduction with the same gravity, yet he himself doubted that the family would appreciate statistical facts and probabilities in their early hours of grief like he did when he was a kid. So instead he had stood in the background and listened as JJ questioned each family member with grace and poise, occasionally asking a question of his own when he felt that it was worth the risk. In the end they hadn't gotten much. All of the victims had been friendly young men desperately trying to push their way through college. They had been exceedingly close to their friends when they were alive but outside of that? Nothing. No scandal riddled their otherwise completely average lives, they were loved by everyone that they met, and not once had they gotten into trouble with the law. It seemed as if the team was at a standstill but Reid still had one trick up his sleeve. Excusing himself from wearied JJ, he had locked himself up in his room and had assigned each man a variable and an equation. It was a bit inhumane, he knew, to look at these victims as simple x's and y's to be used as tools in an equation but he felt deep down in his heart that somewhere – _somewhere _– amongst the mess of division signs, erase marks, parabolas, and variables the answer lay hidden. So that was how Morgan found him: tousle haired, bent over a nest of papers, and looking back and forth between the papers on the desk with squinted eyes.

"Hey kid,"

Reid jumped and the pencil in his hand went skittering across the desk. "Jeez, Morgan, You scared me," he said angrily, clutching absentmindedly at his chest. Morgan smiled. He bent down and retrieved Reid's pencil. "To say the least," he said, handing it to him. Reid snatched it from him and tried to flash him a dirty look but failed completely when he caught sight of the wide grin on his face, "I tried knocking but you wouldn't answer so I tried the handle and, what do you know, it was unlocked. I've been standing at that doorway calling your name for about five minutes."

"Really? You could have been the Unsub and I wouldn't have…"

Morgan watched him patiently. When he saw that he wasn't going to get any more out of the young genius he said, "What's keeping your attention?" Reid hesitated.

"I assigned each victim individual variables and turned their surrounding factors into equations. I'm hoping to find a variable that overlaps all six murders. It'll either lead us to the Unsub or something really obscure like…I don't know… a blade of grass in their driveway."

"Ah," Morgan said, as if this was the most natural response in the world, "you getting anywhere?"

"Not really,"

"That's probably because you want to substitute y = w(2)/25 with y = b(2)/25 in this equation right here."

Reid looked down in surprise at the equation that Morgan had just pointed to. He had completely forgotten about that one equation. He quickly erased the w and replaced it with a b. He didn't know whether to laugh at the unexpectedness of the situation or feel threatened by Morgan's unexpected genius. Morgan smiled even wider, a glint of mischief flaring up in his eyes.

"How did you…"

"That right there," he said, tapping the paper with his long finger again, "was your obscure factor. In the equation that would have represented a minor probability which would have had some bearing upon the case….just –"

"- a very small one, you're right." Reid looked up at Morgan, wanting to say something, anything, but quickly became flustered and looked away.

"Anyway," Morgan said slowly, watching him, "the rest of the team's going out to get a bite to eat. You coming?"

"No. I have to finish this."

"Come on, Reid. No one's expecting you to figure this out in one night."

"I know, but," Reid chanced looking up at Morgan again, "I feel like the more that I work here the closer I get to figuring out who the Unsub is. It's the only way that I can help you guys."

Morgan sighed and looked at the elegant TV set. Onscreen a handsome man with an aquiline nose and intelligent eyes mouthed wordlessly to his confused looking companion. "Ah, Mister Jeremy Brett," Morgan said quietly, gazing at the TV screen, "The best actor to portray Sherlock Holmes, in my opinion," Reid looked up in surprise. He had been expecting Morgan to reprimand his previous comment and launch into some sympathetic albeit pitying speech on how important he was to the team like the others usually did. Somewhat relieved, he looked at the screen. He had turned on the TV when he first walked in the room, more of a subconscious act than anything, and then had promptly forgotten about it when he remembered how little they had achieved that day. Now he looked at the between the screen and Morgan with mild interest. "You're familiar with the Sherlock Holmes series?"

"You sound surprised," Morgan said, white teeth flashing

"No…I-"

"Hey! It wasn't just Sports Illustrated and ESPN," Morgan said, laughing.

"No!" exclaimed the Highly Flustered Liar, "It's just that…I find it interesting that you think that Jeremy Brett was the best actor to portray Sherlock Holmes."

"What, you don't?"

Reid shrugged and raised his eyebrows as if it were obvious. "Not really. I mean, have you seen Ronald Howard in the 1954 series?"

Morgan frowned thoughtfully, "a little bit, but-"

"So you have to admit that he was _pretty_ good,"

"Well, not to burst you bubble, kid, but –"

And so began a back and forth banter between Morgan and Reid in which the diagrams on the table, the man on the TV, and the case itself were completely forgotten as the world outside of the open window grew darker and darker. Morgan was steadfast in his opinion but gentle with his approach as Reid hit him with statistic after statistic until finally, _finally_, after what seemed liked hours of counter points and variations on the topic, each man collapsed, breathless, on different sides of the bed. Suddenly, Morgan laughed.

"You realize it's about 10:54, right?" He said. Reid yawned and gazed sleepily at the TV.

"Yeah," he yawned again, "do you feel like ordering room service. You can eat in here if you want." Suddenly Reid froze. He didn't know where that last part had come from. It had just slipped off of his tongue before he could really think about it. He cleared his throat and suddenly became very focused on a string unraveling from the toe of his left sock, waiting with baited breath for Morgan's answer. Part of him wanted nothing more than for Morgan to say no, to decline his offer in his usual patient and understanding way but the other part of him? Well, it wanted nothing more than for Morgan to look at him in surprise, then smile, then say, "Couldn't hurt," in that oh so familiar voice of his.

Which is exactly what Morgan did.

However, thirty minutes later found the two men fast asleep – snoring, in fact - upon the king-sized bed. They had planned to stay up just long enough to receive room service and eat dinner but had quite unintentionally fallen asleep while watching another episode of the Adventures of Sherlock Holmes. Now the two men slept a peaceful, worn out sleep undisturbed by confused thoughts of their intertwining past and the seemingly unsolvable riddles of their future until Reid, woken by the chilly midnight air that wafted through the window, sat up and looked around. It was dark in the room, not a thick, pressing dark but rather the misty, silvery dark very few get to see in their waking hours. The soft moonlight filtered in through the fluttering curtains and painted greyish tracks on their bed, illuminating their bodies and giving the whole scene a rather ethereal touch. For a minute Reid sat still and listened to the sounds of the humming cars – now fading in, now fading away – and the hissing trees beneath his window. He wondered briefly whether his team was somewhere out there in the night, contributing their own quiet voices to what some of his favorite authors liked to call the symphony of the night before remembering that he had fallen asleep rather late and that they were all back by now. But why had he stayed up so late? What had kept him up? There was an incessant chattering coming from somewhere in the room and he longed to call out to whoever it was that was speaking that he was beginning to get a migraine and could they keep it down before he realized that the TV had been left on. Eyes closed, he fumbled with the sheets that had somehow managed to twist themselves around his shoes (why were his shoes still on, anyway?) and stumbled out of bed. The walk to the television seemed endless and by the time he stumbled back into bed he felt as if the pain in his forehead had tripled and the flashing colors that had briefly illuminated his face as he reached for the on/off bottom would be ingrained in his mind forever.

Suddenly he stiffened and stared fearfully at the edge of his bed. Someone was there. It took a minute for his mind to truly wrap around the concept but when it did adrenaline and fear rushed into him like a crashing wave, waking him up faster than any cup of coffee ever could. Someone in a black jacket and polished shoes was lying in his hotel room bed. For one crazy minute he thought that it was his mother (for she was the only one who he had ever shared a bed) before he remembered that she was miles away in Las Vegas. He frantically tried to recall where he had put his holster as he slowly, slowly reached a hand out to rouse the slumbering figure. Suddenly the man turned and Reid exhaled in relief. It was Morgan, of course. He withdrew his hand and put it to his chest, feeling his heart race frantically beneath his fimngers as he suddenly remembered everything that had led up to that moment. He had been working on the case, Morgan had walked in and asked if he wanted to join them for dinner, they had gotten into an argument about Sherlock Holmes, ordered room service and then…and then….

What had they done after that? He quickly ran a hand over his forehead and his upper lip, feeling the dampness that covered the two areas. Why was he sweating if it was so cold? Even more importantly, why were his clothes tousled and wrinkled? Had they….did they…did _he_…there was only way to be sure.

Cheeks burning, he stuck his hand beneath the waistband of his pants and cringed shamefully in disgust as he groped at his own manhood. He would kill Morgan. _ Kill_ him and then bash his head against the headboard. _As if once wasn't enough_, he thought angrily as he quickly withdrew his hand from his pants and wiped it on the sheets, _you just couldn't get enough of me you…you rapist_. Rapist. His eyes filled with tears as he gazed down at the handsome face, so peaceful and untroubled in that moment. Why was it that he was allowed to be so happy and content as Reid struggled with things that he had once before only read about in victim's written statements. _This is stupid_, he told himself as he angrily tried to wipe the tears away, _you're stupid for letting yourself trust someone like him. He never cared about you. All he really cares about is sex and his alpha maleness. You fell for him just like all of the other people that he's been with just because he's handsome and he's nice to you. So this is what happens when you let people in. _


	11. His Touch

Part Two

_All he really cares about is sex and his alpha maleness. You fell for him just like all of the other people that he's been with just because he's handsome and he's nice to you. So this is what happens when you let people in._

He rubbed his eyes again, hard enough this time to make them red as he thought about what he should do next. He wanted nothing more than to be away from the silver tongued agent that had taken advantage of him yet at the same time he wanted, no, he needed to hear an apology, an excuse, even – anything from the lips of the man who he had once felt so comfortable with. Morgan muttered something that sounded suspiciously like 'Spencer' and then sighed in his sleep. His forehead crinkled in consternation and he turned away from him, only to turn back around and face him again. "Samuel," he muttered, "don't…don't…NO!" Suddenly he bolted up and looked around wildly. "Reid!" he shouted, not aware that the very man was sitting right beside him. "Reid!" he called again into the darkness.

"Morgan! Morgan! I'm here! I'm here!"

"Reid," Morgan said in relief and quickly grabbed his arm. Reid flinched beneath his touch and tried to pull away but Morgan's grip was tight and painful. "Are you okay?" he asked anxiously.

"I…I'm fine! Wait…no! No, I'm not fine! Morgan, what did you do to me last night?!"

"What did I…what?" Morgan said with some confusion.

"Last night we…we were talking about Sherlock Holmes and we ordered room service –" suddenly Reid broke off and pressed the heel of his palm against his temple. Morgan recognized this as a sign of an intense and sudden migraine but that's not what made his eyes widen in shock. He quickly grabbed Reid's hand and pulled it away from his temple. "Reid, look at me," he commanded. Reid obeyed and stared at him even though his eyes watered with pain and regret, "You think I raped you?" Reid jumped at the word but nonetheless nodded weakly. His hand felt clammy and cold in Morgan's hand but for some reason he did not pull away. Having heard the accusation come from Morgan's mouth accompanied by anger, bewilderment, and betrayal Reid began to realize just how, well, paranoid and ridiculous his accusation was. He swallowed and looked into Morgan's eyes with desperation. _I'm sorry_, he tried to say but anger quickly crowded Morgan's brow and he had to look away.

"Reid," he said, leveling his voice. "I want you to listen to me because I'm only saying this once since it will never cease to be true. I _respect_ you. I respect you as a profiler and as a friend. Reid, I would never -"

"I know! I know!" Reid gushed. Suddenly, he felt the overwhelming need to thank Morgan for…what? Reid was never the man for passionate words or earnest admittances of emotions and feelings so how was he to explain to Morgan the gratefulness and respect that he, too, felt towards him? What words would he use to thank him for treating him like a normal human being as opposed to a rape victim or socially awkward and pathetic genius? What tone of voice would he use if he were to apologize for being frightened and panicked about the whole thing when he knew that he should at least try to show strength, some faith in Morgan? If he couldn't say any of things how did he ever expect to tell Morgan, to _really_ look him in the eye and say the words that had been flitting through his mind ever since Morgan had first run his hand across his naked chest? He opened his mouth but fear and anxiety quickly shrouded his thoughts and he closed it again. He stared at Morgan's hand through a veil of dwindling tears and briefly wondered what he would do if Morgan were to touch him again, this time without the fear of an unsub hanging over them, without the fear of anything, really. That's when he realized that he _wanted_ him; he wanted Morgan to run his hand over his chest and look at him with his usual carefree smile. He wanted him to call him Pretty Boy, Resident Genius, Kid and then throw his hands up in mock submission when he made a surprisingly witty retort. He wanted, above everything else, to feel the freedom, carefreeness, and companionship that he had felt with Morgan once before except this time he wanted just a little bit more. He stared at Morgan's hand, willing himself to reach out and take it but he couldn't. He simply couldn't. He had always been adverse to touching people (and being touched) and, even though he wanted nothing more than to be touched by Morgan at that moment, the idea of instigating such closeness made him queasy with anticipation. He took a shaky breath in.

"I'm sorry, man," he said, unable to look Morgan in the eye. Morgan moved his hand away and Reid's eye followed it with some regret, "this whole thing has me on edge. Paranoid, really,"

"Yeah, I know how you feel," Morgan sighed and closed his eyes. Reid could sense that he was still angry yet he knew that his anger was not directed towards him, but rather the splinter that had been lodged in their friendship and the man that had stuck it there. There was a silence and then…

"When you were sleeping you called my name."

"Did I?" Morgan opened his eyes and looked at him in surprise.

"Yeah. And then you said, 'Samuel…don't…don't…No.'" Morgan groaned. "What is it," he asked worriedly.

"More paranoia," Morgan had no intentions of telling Reid anymore about the mysterious man that he had met in the bar but one look at the young genius's face told him that he really didn't have a choice in the matter. He sighed again and moved in closer to Reid. "When Emily and I went to check out the bar that the victims had gone to we met a man. His name was Samuel Fidel and…I don't know, Reid. Something about the guy just really _got_ to me. You know how when you meet an Unsub for the time you just want to –" Morgan bit his bottom lip slammed his fist into his palm, "- well, maybe you don't. But I do. This guy…something about him made me want to lash out at him yet at the same time…"

"What?" Morgan shook his head.

"Yet at the same time he reminded me of somebody, the way that he looked at me. Only once has a man ever looked at me like that before."

There was a pause as Morgan collected his thoughts. Reid looked away in confusion. Who was Morgan talking about? Reid scanned all of his mental databases but he couldn't think of anyone that could unsettle Morgan in the way that this man – this Samuel Fidel – obviously had. For a second he thought that maybe he had been referencing Hotch (a ridiculous idea, but an idea nonetheless) until he realized that there was another man that he had learned about a few years back. He looked up at Morgan in horror, but the other agent's eyes were fixated on the wooden rail at the end of the bed. His face was drawn and his eyes were distant as if he were caught in a reminiscence of a tainted past. _So that's what his paranoia looks like_, Reid thought as he squinted at Morgan, _all that has happened to us has brought back memories of the past_. He wanted to do something to help Morgan, but he did not have faith enough in his words to use them as a method of comfort yet at the same time he knew that his friend was walking through his own personal hell full of confliction and desperation. _A hell in which I'm nothing but a useless passenger_, Reid thought. He couldn't take it anymore. He grabbed Morgan's hand and pulled it close to his chest.

"Morgan, I think it's time that I told the rest of the team." Morgan roused himself from his reverie and looked at him.

"What?"

"I said, 'I think that it's time that I told the rest of the team.' About Benedict."

Morgan smiled a real, true smile (Reid could almost count his pearly white teeth) and pulled him into an unexpected embrace. Suddenly he pulled back and looked at him with a grim expression on his face. "You don't have to do this," he said, watching him closely. Reid shook his head.

"No, I have to. I feel like I've been floating around in denial ever since we…" he hesitated, looking for a relatively non-obscene word. Unable to find any he let the sentence drop and continued, "and it's not fair. It's not fair to you or the rest of the team. They have a right to know. And you…Morgan, you deserve the faith and respect of someone stronger than I am."

"Reid…"

"No…just…please don't hinder me on this one, okay? I have to tell them." Reid stood up and tied the belt to his cotton robe resolutely. Already the sun was starting to shine through the grey mists of the morning and paint new patterns on the powdery blue walls. Morgan stood up and rested his hand on Reid's shaking fingers.

"Reid, you're not going to tell them –"

"But –"

"_We're_ going to tell them together because this involves both of us." Reid sighed in relief and sat back down on the bed. But Morgan was quick to pull him up again.

"Hey, what's this?" He said, his hands still on Reid's wrists, "I thought we were leaving now."

"What? Now? Why would we do that?"

"You were tying your belt. I thought you were getting ready to leave."

"I was cold."

Morgan smiled and shook his head. "Look, kid, it's not going to make a difference when we tell them. All that matters is that you get it off of your chest and we can move on with our lives."

"You're right."

Reid went in the bathroom and quickly slipped on a tannish woolen sweater and grey trousers. He glanced at himself in the mirror and groaned. His eyes were surrounded by dark circles, his clothes were wrinkled, and his hair was sticking up in a frizzy disarray. He pulled at one of the brown strands and tried to lock it behind his ear. "Like someone who hasn't seen a shower for days," he muttered. He quickly drew his eyes away from the mirror, so ashamed was he of the grimacing reflection that he saw. He turned on the faucet and simply stared at the running water for a minute or two before splashing some on his face and hair. The water felt cool and refreshing against his skin and he felt, as he ran the rough towel against his cheek, that a weeks' worth of worry was being removed from his face. However, when he looked into the mirror again the same dark-eyed, tousled hair reflection looked back. There was nothing that he could do to wash the life's worth of fatigue away. He put his hand on the knob and turned, fearing the expression to be unmasked that he would see on Morgan's face.

"I'm ready," he mumbled, pushing past Morgan to get to the door. Already he was starting to regret his decision to tell his team everything and it was with a pounding heart and aching stomach that he opened the hotel room door. But something was wrong. Morgan hadn't moved an inch. Reid turned and looked at him quizzically but immediately the look melted from his face when his eye's settled on Morgan's.

Part of the reason why people speculated that Reid had autism, Asperger's, anything that seemed to encompass everything was because he tended to avoid eye contact. It's not that he feared the demons that he would see in people eyes as someone had once dared to hint but rather he feared the judgment that he would see there. People usually refrained from telling him what they truly thought about him and his statistics but he already knew based on what he could see in their eyes whenever he had the courage to hold their gaze long enough. Only if he were close enough with the person or trying to explore some new and fascinating idea would he feel comfortable enough to maintain eye contact. But, even though a strange smile played about his lips, Morgan's eyes were strangely empty; devoid of all feeling, judgment, and emotion except for …Reid couldn't bring himself to admit it so instead he felt it; he felt it wash over his body and control his thoughts, he felt it spill through the man's fingertips as they pulled him in closer, he felt it gather in the pit of his stomach and swirl around his body like wisps of smoke as Morgan bent down, ever so slowly, and kissed him once on the cheek. And then he felt it wash over his parted lips like a breath of warm air as Morgan pulled back, eyes still closed, hovering just a few inches before his lips. He felt it take his palm and press it against the back of his neck and then Reid knew that it wasn't just Morgan's love that made him tilt his head and kiss him once again but the love that they shared for each other.

**XoXoXoXo**

**Me: Ooooh, how'd you like that macaroni and cheesy kissing scene at the end, huh? Come on, tell me. I'd love to know. Sorry this chapter took so long to update. I was trying to figure out how exactly I wanted to structure it and, I have to say, I'm just as surprised as you are at the end result. Originally I just planned on having them share the same hotel room and then have Reid tell Morgan that he wanted to tell the team but this *taps screen* I'm not sure where this came from. Seriously, I didn't plan it at all. Maybe Morgan and Reid are speaking through me o.O Hope you enjoyed it! On to the next chapter! Oh, also (if it was a bit hard to understand) Reid had a wet dream and that's why he thought that Morgan had raped him when he felt the wetness in his pants.**


	12. One Bloody Storm P1

Part 1

**Warning: Semi-explicit goriness ahead**

His throat ached and his eyes burned. He had been sitting in the same position for hours: trussed up like a pig and leaning against a damp cement wall. He could feel the grainy surface cutting through the thin fabric of his tee-shirt and scratching sweaty back, only contributing to the pain – both psychical and psychological – that enveloped his body.

"Please," he whispered, his voice hoarse. He could feel the hot tears running down his cheeks, irritating the scraped flesh and rewetting the salty tracks that had only just dried. He opened his mouth to speak again but instead of words a stream of sour vomit gushed forth and dribbled over his cracked lips. He was going to try again. It was the least that he could do for his friend. He took a shuddering breath in, feeling the nausea and panic rise with the breath, and forced the words past the fog of disorientation and pain that clouded his mind.

"I am _begging _you," he said. As soon as the words left his mouth another wave of vomit rose within him but he was quick to swallow it. He shivered and tried again. "I am _begging you. _Don't hurt us anymore. _Please_. Please, I'm begging you. I'll give you anything, anything –"

"Shut up."

"Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait. Please, look at me. What do you want, just tell me –"

"Shut up…"  
"Anything, anything. Oh, Eddie. Can you hear me? You're okay, you're okay –"

"SHUT UP, I SAID!"

The man cried out in fear as his captor turned around and settled his grey eyes on him with a disappointed frown. God, he hated those eyes. They reminded him of something evil, something strange and powerfully inhuman just like the tense energy one feels when they know that a devastating and merciless storm is on its way. He knew that he should be brave: a sharp tongue and quick wit would have probably gotten them out of this mess sooner but, under the distant surveillance of those flashing eyes, he felt stripped of his confidence and humanity. He was nothing but a vulnerable toy at the hands of a sick psychopath and there was nothing that he'd be able to do to save his friend. He turned his eyes upon the nude figure lying motionless in a corner of the room. One hand lay twisted behind his bruised back while the other lay pinned beneath his stomach which was covered in oozing blood. His body gleamed with sweat and his shoulders rose and fell ever so slightly with each breath. _Eddie_. Marcus thought he heard a groan.

The man, his captor, turned again and surveyed his friend's pathetic figure with obvious relish. For five minutes or so he just stood there, admiring his work before turning his eyes back on Marcus and smiling a small, satisfied smile. Marcus flinched as he knelt down beside him and placed his hand on his shoulder.

"Well," the man said, his silvery eyes still glinting in the dim light, "I'm terribly sorry about that. You see, sometimes we just need a little _push_ to get us going in the right direction."

"A little push?! You burned him with cigarettes and sliced open his stomach, you sick freak!"

"So I did," the man looked at Eddie over his shoulder. "So I did," he said again, turning back to him, "and how does that make you feel?"

"It makes me feel like I want to…" Marcus knew what he wanted, his captor had made it crystal clear as he poked and prodded the two men into his basement at gun point. He wanted a confession: a pure and earnest confession. But Marcus couldn't do it. He could smile and sob and whimper and lie through his teeth to this homicidal maniac but he could not – _could not_ – force himself to believe in a confession that was so wrong in his opinion, not under such pressure at least. He tried to twitch his lips into a smile, but he could tell by the look of disgust on his captor's face that the smile looked fake and uncomfortable_. I'll do it right this time_, he promised himself, _I'll tell him what he wants to hear and then I'll get us out of this_. "It makes me want to pull him into my arms and…hold him close and tell him the truth and…and…and get him medical help because he needs help and oh god, oh god, oh god, PLEASE!"

"NO! NO," the man jumped up and began to pace about the room. Suddenly he looked up and shook the gun at him threateningly. "YOU'RE NOT DOING IT RIGHT,"

"Okay, okay, okay. I'm sorry! Please don't shoot! I – I just, I love him, all right? I love him with all of my heart. Look –"

"YOU'RE LYING!" the man screamed. The veins in his neck bulged and a violent red blush was begging to spread over his sweaty cheeks. He aimed a vicious kick at Marcus's head, making the man fall back with a cry.

"So what if I am?" he cried. Blood began to stream into his eyes from the cut on his head, temporarily blinding him. He quickly put a hand to his head, assessing the wound. A wave of nausea and disorientation swept over him as he felt the slimy stuff begin to coat his fingers. "What does it even matter?! It doesn't – please! I just want to go home: let us go home! I need help, oh god, someone help me. Please, someone help us!" He began to rock back and forth, muttering a broken string of prayers and curses between wails of torment and agony. His friend had been tortured, beaten, abused and there he was: shackled to a wall and waiting for the next blow, hoping against hope that it would be the final one to end all of his misery. But it never came. He looked up and found that his captor was standing still, the gun hanging limply from his hand. A change seemed to have come over the man: his eyes no longer burned with disgust or fury and, for a moment, he almost looked remorseful. Slowly, he knelt down onto his knees again and placed his arm around Marcus's shoulder. The man tried to pull away but every movement caused him an enormous amount of pain so instead he sat, cringing in a psychopath's arms.

"Oh, Jeremiah," his captor muttered, looking at him with a gaze full of sorrow and adoration, "Jeremiah, speak to me. Is it bad?"

"I…I…I'm not Jere…Jeremiah. Please…"

"Shh," the man quickly pulled his sleeve over his wrist and tried to wipe the blood away from Marcus's forehead. "That's delirium talking. Where is Izaya?"

"Who? Please, I need help."

"I'll kill that taxi driver. I'll kill 'em," suddenly the man turned and seemed to notice the dying figure in the corner for the first time. He gasped and tightened his hold on Marcus's arm. "Oh no, now you're both dying," he turned back to him and this time desperation glowed in his eyes behind a veil of pity and sorrow, "you've got to tell him. You've got to. Now's your only chance."

"Plea-ea-ease," Marcus cried out, tears streaming down his face and mingling with the blood. He could feel his life draining out of him as if it were nothing but a thin, wispy smoke riding his exhalations. He didn't know where he was anymore or who he was with. All he knew was that his name was not Jeremiah. He would cling to his identity with all of his remaining might if it was the last thing that he ever had a chance to hold onto. "Samuel! Please, you remember me! My name is Marcus Eccelson –"

"You're DYING, Jeremiah! Tell him that you loved him. He'll die not knowing it –"

"I'm not Jeremiah!"

"TELL HIM!"

"I'm not –"

"_TELL HIM_!"

With a roar his captor fastened his hands around his Marcus's and began to squeeze. He squeezed and squeezed and squeezed until Marcus was blue in the face and his bloated tongue hung out of his mouth like a dead fish. He squeezed and squeezed and squeezed until he felt the ever –so satisfying snap of sinews beneath his fingers, the snap that signified the end of a life, the snap that signified his triumph. Marcus was dead.


	13. One Bloody Storm P2

Part 2

Breathing heavily, he sat back on his heels and regarded his victim with relish. Even in death the man wore a stupid look of confusion and pain however he liked that look because, after all, _he_ was the one that had caused him to look like that. The man in the corner, perhaps sensing the death of a friend, moaned and tried to turn his way. "Marcus," he called thickly. He tried to push himself up with one hand (Samuel guessed that the other had been rendered useless due to the intense attention that it had received) but collapsed. "Marcus," he called again.

"Marcus is dead," Samuel said simply as he got up and walked towards his other victim. He knelt down on one knee and stared at the back of his head, wondering how he would dispose of this one, "and soon you will be, too."

"No, Marcus is not. I just saw him. He was right there."

"Oh, he is right there," Samuel removed a blade smeared with blood from his pocket and rubbed some of the crimson liquid off onto his shirt. _Oh, it's only going to get dirty again_, he thought to himself with some amusement. He ran the blade tenderly along the man's neck. "But he's dead."  
"Oh…" the man had not opened his eyes, so deeply was he immersed in a pool of delirium brought on by a day's worth of torture. "Can you fix him?"

"Now why would I do that?" Samuel asked, running the blade loving across a bite mark that, coincidently, outlined his own set of perfectly square teeth. He felt an erection rising at the sheer thought of killing this man; really dealing him a good dish of fury before snuffing out his life. He shivered.

"Be-because…"

"Yes?"

"He's my friend and I'll miss him if you kill him."

Samuel froze and stared at the man. His mouth fell open and, for a second, he felt as if he were a ghost looking down upon the scene. It was as if somebody else was holding the knife and, for one more crazy, crazy second, he almost wished that whoever it was would take the knife away before the man, Eddie, got hurt. _But this is what you've done_. You_ did this_, he thought to himself as he stared down at the innocent figure lying beside him. Slowly, the man opened one unseeing eye and rolled it towards him. The soft light behind his green pupil made him look almost peaceful, docile, ironically enough, and Samuel knew that, in that moment, he had the power to determine the fate of this pitiable character. _Power_…_control_….oh, but it did arouse him. He jumped on the man and ran the blade against his throat, crying out in orgasmic delight as the crimson blood gushed all over his wrists and fingertips. The man screamed: he writhed and kicked and hacked and coughed but this only inspired pride in Samuel. _He _had done this. He had painted this beautiful portrait of death.

"Go ahead and cry, you little baby bird," he shouted in ecstasy as he danced around the man's body, perhaps trying to drown out the guilt that always snuck into him after he murdered a man. "Cry and cry and cry. No one will hear you. No one is gonna care but me because I did this! YOU HEAR ME! YOU beautiful –" He slipped on a pool of blood and landed on his bottom. Immediately forks of pain shot through his legs and up his torso. He began to panic when he saw the blood blooming beneath his legs until he realized that it was not his own. Still, to him the incident was scary enough to shake up his nerves and soon tears began to pour from his eyes. "Ow," he muttered softly, "Ow, ow, ow. Jeremiah? I hurt myself. Where is Izaya?" He looked up in embarrassment when he realized that he had spoken out loud but then remembered that there was no one there that could have heard him except for the man who was bleeding to death on the floor. Samuel looked at him pensively as he continued to rub his bottom, a deep grimace forming on his face. He wished that the man would stop writhing and squiggling about: it really was quite frightful. _Perhaps, if he does not stop in ten minutes, I will take him to the hospital_, Samuel thought and for the next ten minutes he stared at the man with impatience, secretly hoping that he would get a chance to make up for the monstrous crime – the unforgivable sin against a man's humanity – that he had committed. But ten minutes passed and the man ceased to show any more signs of life. Gasping, Samuel crawled towards him and placed a hand on his neck. He sat still for thirty minutes listening, hoping, waiting for a pulse but there was nothing. The man had died. Samuel fell back onto his knees and screamed.

"Oh god, what have I done?! What have I done?!" He cried, clutching at his hair, "I didn't mean to do it! Really! Someone help please help me! Please!"

"_But you did,_"

Samuel looked up in surprise. There, standing before him, was his very own brother wearing a handsome suit and a warm smile.

"_You did it for them. And you did it for us," _the man held out his hand to someone across the room. Samuel turned and, once again to his surprise, he saw Jeremiah standing there. He, too, was wearing a suit though not as elaborate as his brother's. Still smiling, Jeremiah breezed past him in a ghost like fashion and took his brother's hand.

"But it's wrong. I killed them. I tor..tortured them!"

"_Oh, little Sammie_," Izaya said, kneeling down. He placed a nonexistent hand on Samuel's shoulder. "_But it felt good, didn't it?_"

"When…when I was in the moment it did."

"_That's because you were sending an important message, a message that they refused to hear._"

"But, Jerry, they're dead! Two innocent –"

"_But they might have died knowing_," This time it was his brother who spoke. He, too, knelt down beside him and placed a glowing hand on his shoulder. "_They didn't admit it, sure, but how do we know that they did not feel it? Samuel, one day you will help two people find the truth."_

Samuel's mind briefly flitted to the image of the handsome agent's face staring down at him with such anger. What was his name? Derek Morgan. Yes, he would reveal to him the truth. With Benedict's help he would expose the emotions that the agent must have felt (if Benedict was correct) for his younger agent. If not…

Well, that would be considered failure and he must obliterate all signs of failure.

He looked at the two bodies lying dead in his basement. They were failed attempts, but he would do better with Agent Morgan and his little friend. Oh yes, he would do much better. He was about to make this promise to Izaya and Jeremiah but when he looked up he found that both of them had gone. He turned around in frantic circles, shouting their names, but he got nothing in the form of response. It was almost as if the two men were never there.

"Well then," he cleared his throat and ran the back of his hand over his nose decisively. In the aftermath of his actions – all of them – he felt as if he were being watched by…who? God? The two dead men? The dust motes floating lazily through the air? He needed to get out, that much he knew, but he also had to dispose of the bodies before he left for work.

He was in the middle of dragging Marcus's body up the staircase by his legs when his phone suddenly rang, making him jump. He cursed and answered it. There was a silence in which his forehead crinkled and his eyes flashed angrily as he listened to the man on the other end .

"I see," he said quietly, eyeing Marcus's body with a sudden distaste. "I see."

He hung up and continued to drag the body up the stairs, the image of Derek Morgan burning in his mind.


	14. The Truth (Reid's Impulse)

Spencer couldn't count how many times he had rehearsed to himself what he was going to say in front of the team. He could count how many times he stumbled on the stairs leading him to the lobby, sure, and he could count the number of veins in Morgan's hand every time he reached out to steady him. Hell, he could estimate the number of individual stars framed in each frosty window every time he past one and the hours that it would take for the pamphlets on the hotel lobby desk to disappear completely but as far as rehearsing went? He couldn't even begin to figure it out, nor did he want to.

Ever since he had kissed Morgan at their hotel room door he had tried to think up various ways in which he could get himself out of the situation or at least postpone it until the next day but after a while he realized that a confession to the team was not only inevitable but necessary so instead he turned his mind to the presentation at hand for, to him at least, it seemed as if he were a part of a modern spectacle in which he was an amateur actor and the rest of the team was an expectant audience. What would he say? Would he use statistics to illustrate his points? No, that didn't seem necessary. Would he give details or would he make it short and to the point? Could he somehow do both? Each piercing possibility weighed down on his mind until he felt quite dizzy and frightened. Every step seemed to bring him closer to an irreversible change in which people would see him. He stumbled again on the staircase, upsetting a nearby portrait of God knows what. Again, Morgan was quick to reach out a hand and support Reid as he regained his balance. But instead of letting him go he pulled him closer and whispered in his ear, "Relax. I'm not going to let you fall."

For some reason this filled Reid's heart with sadness and he tried to mumble an apology which ended up sounding like a bird squawking in pain. He cleared his throat. "Morgan, I don't know if I can do this," he whispered back as they reached the end of the staircase. But he knew this was not true. Although part of him felt like running back up the staircase and immersing himself in the comforting world of mathematical equations and diagrams he knew that he could never bring himself to actually do it for there was just something about Spencer Reid that so few saw and appreciated. The man was determined and infallible in his core and this was what made him one of the best agents and, not only that, one of the best of men. This internal strength was often underestimated due to his age and lithe figure but when Spencer put his mind to setting right what had been wronged he was powerful. And so it was that when he entered the lobby and turned his eyes upon his team his hands shook and his stomach churned yet he refused to turn away now. He simply could not. His resolution would not let him. Upon seeing them the team –some still clad into their pajamas for it _was_ four in the morning- jumped to their feet. JJ was the first one to break the silence.

"Spence…Morgan, is everything all right?" She said, walking towards them. She stood next to Reid and tried to look him in the eye. He held her gaze steadily for a moment before glancing over her shoulder.

"Everything's fine," he said in a croaking voice. He quickly stuffed his hands in his pockets and looked away– stress alleviating actions, Morgan noticed. "You should all sit down."

The members of the team looked at them warily before slowly moving back to their places. At about five minutes to four they had each received a call from Morgan in which he asked them in a solemn voice that caught their attention immediately to meet him and Reid down in the lobby. He wouldn't say anything else about the meeting except that he and Reid just really needed to get something off of their chests'. Even Garcia had a received a call – far away as she was in Quantico – and had immediately set up her webcam between Hotch's laptop and her own. There was an air of urgency and mystery about the whole affair that sparked not only the team's curiosity but a sense of fear for their two team mates. Emily's wasn't the only minds that turned briefly to the photos. As she watched the two men take their seats she noticed a subtle change in Morgan. He seemed anxious, but not for his own sake. He kept looking at Reid who didn't seem to notice him – faraway as he was in some distant thought – and it was only when he had poured Reid a glass of water and pushed it towards him did the younger agent finally look up and catch his eye.

"Thank you," he whispered, but he did not touch the glass. Morgan muttered something to him but Reid shook his head.

"No, I'll start." He cleared his throat once, twice, and finally looked up at the group of people sitting around him. "I suppose I should start at the beginning. A few days ago I got a call from a man who claimed to be inside of Bennington Sanitarium in Las Vegas – the institution where my mother is staying. He said that there were some things that he wanted me to do and if I didn't do them he would kill my mom. At first I didn't believe him but then he sent me photos of the institution and my mother's face. I had no other choice but to believe. He said that he wanted me to set up a video feed between his phone's camera and a camera that I was to set up in Morgan's house. He also said that I would regret the slightest variation in these tasks. I was to do all of this within the hour," here he looked over at Morgan apologetically, "that night I waited until you got in the shower to pick the lock and set up the camera. All the time I thought to myself that there was something that I should've been doing to help you because I thought that this was an attack on you and I was just the man caught in the middle but I was wrong, in a sense," he turned back to the rest of the team, "He didn't just want something from Morgan. As instructed I called him back when I was finished and he told me to go into one of the empty rooms where he would give me the rest of the instructions…" Reid paused and looked down at his shoes, his lips forming a tight line. He knew what he was supposed to say next but he couldn't find the right words.

"What were they?" asked Hotch, watching his younger agent closely. Reid looked up, his eyes shining, and seemed as if he would never open his mouth again when suddenly Morgan spoke.

"He wanted us to have sex with each other as part of a fantasy in which Reid and I were a couple," here there was an audible gasp from Garcia, "It was either that or Reid's mother would be shot. He explained everything when he called us beforehand. So we did what he told us to do and the next day he revealed himself to us in the office."

Once again, silence prevailed; a thick silence pregnant with a thousand unspoken questions and half thought out words of comfort. The team stared at the two men in shock mingled with disbelief. Something about the whole affair seemed strange and uncomfortable to them. Too often they found themselves cradled in the tempting delusion that because they were the good guys who stopped the murderous psychopaths from roaming the street they were immediately granted some kind of shield from the very same people. There was an implied chain of command in which the serial killers on bottom were simply not allowed to harm the agents on top. But as they looked upon Reid and Morgan they were reminded once again that even they could fall prey to a psychopath's game. Suddenly they understood why they had been sent the pictures and recordings. Reid and Morgan weren't trying to freak them out on some naughty impulse – the psychopath (an Unsub in their minds now) had been humiliating the two agents even further by exposing them to their coworkers.

"Oh my god," Garcia said, her eyes wet with tears. She took her glasses off and quickly brushed her tears away with her sleeve. Reid smiled. The sight of her blonde pigtails, fuzzy pink bracelets, and Tank Girl shirt was oddly comforting to him. "If I could reach through the screen I would and pull you both into my arms and make sure that you never have to see the darkness that is the jewel of these sickos' hearts ever again."

"Do you know who the man was?" Hotch asked. Though he wore a calm and collected expression already in his mind he was thinking about the steps that he would need to take to track down this man and make him pay for what he had done to Reid. He knew that Morgan would be able to compartmentalize and, in time, Reid would too but until the latter reached that point Hotch felt an almost paternal need to help Reid through this. The first step, he knew, would be to find the man and snuff out the taunting hold that he had over the two men. He watched as Morgan pulled out a crumpled pink envelope from his pocket.

"Benedict Kardek," he said, handing the envelope to Rossi, "he works in the office."

"Wait - he was the one who you were talking to the other day," Emily said.

"Right, I remember him. The FBI brought him on as a Technical Assistant. Wasn't he demoted to janitorial work or something like that?" Rossi handed the envelope to Hotch.

"Yes, but he probably used his remaining FBI credits to get himself into the institution without too many questions."

JJ shook her head. To her it seemed as if everybody was going about this the wrong way. She wanted to tell them that this wasn't about the man but rather what he had made Reid and Morgan do. She knelt down in front of them and looked at them with concern in her eyes. "Spence…Morgan…I am so sorry that you had to go through with this. We will do anything in our power to put him behind bars."

"Definitely," Rossi said. Prentiss nodded, "we're a team and an attack on one of us is an attack on all of us."

"There is…one more thing…" Prentiss faltered and glanced at JJ. She didn't know whether or not to bring up the photos that she had received – it would add weight to the burden that had only partly been lifted from their shoulders. Yet Reid and Morgan had been truthful with them. The least she could do was return the favor. She cleared her throat. "Last Saturday a waiter at one of the cafes that I went to handed me…three photos of you from that night. He said that a man had paid him twenty dollars to give them to me." Reid looked up with a wild sort of fear in his eye while Morgan stared at her in horror; the first true emotion to break through his composed manner. But before either man could speak JJ turned around and looked at Emily in surprise.

"He did the same thing to me. Three photos…"

"A DVD recording was sent to my house that same day," that was Hotch.

"And he sent me the photos through text messaging. Oh, guys…"

"And I received an audio recording," that was Rossi. He stood up with a sigh and walked over to the window, gazing at nothing in particular with a frown on his face. JJ groaned and put her head in her hands.

"So you're telling me that you all –" Morgan looked from agent to agent in disbelief, mouthing wordlessly. His brow clouded with anger at what, though, nobody could tell. He got up and began to pace back and forth like a lion that had been trapped in a tiny cage for too long. Reid stared at Emily, his face quickly turning pale.

"You saw…"

"Hey, hey kid, it's alright." Rossi walked over to Reid and placed his hand on the back of his chair (the only form of physical affection that he was really capable of showing.) He noticed that Reid stiffened at his use of the word 'kid' and quickly changed his tactics. "It's only us. The photos and recordings will be destroyed."

"Um, actually," JJ's eyes traveled slowly between the two men as she tried to choose her words carefully. She began to rub the back of her ear uncomfortably, "we might need them,"

"JJ!" Emily cried.

"The case – the one that we're working on right now….look, it's hard to ignore the fact that there are similarities. Two men forced to have sex as part of a possible fantasy it…it can't be a coincidence."

"JJ's right. Reid, Morgan, I'm sorry but we have to keep the recordings at the very least. They may prove helpful –"

"Helpful!?" Morgan whipped around as if he had been bitten on the back. Everybody in the room tensed. It was a well-known fact that SSA Aaron Hotchner was of the alpha-male type, yet so was Derek Morgan. Occasional clashes were not only inevitable but uncomfortable even though the two men worked well together. Reid looked up at Morgan curiously. It was Morgan's idea to tell the group about what had happened between them and, in the end, it was he who had explicitly told them with an expressionless face that they had had sex. So why was he so angry with Hotch and the team for wanting to keep the pictures for further examination? "Helpful?" Morgan said again, too angry to form any other word, "Hotch, JJ - you've seen the pictures! What more do you need to do? Go over them in minute detail?

"Actually, Morgan, we do –" Morgan shook his head angrily, his eyebrows coming together in the middle of his forehead. Reid knew that look. He knew it well. Suddenly he understood what had upset Morgan so much. He wasn't angry or embarrassed for his own sake. Morgan knew that the mere thought of his coworkers examining pictures and recordings in which he, Reid, was laid out at his most vulnerable unnerved him in an unbearable way. He felt his heart give an extra thump in his chest.

"Morgan," Reid said quietly. But Morgan did not hear him for he was in the midst of a heated debate with Hotch. Reid tried again, louder this time. "Morgan," the man turned and looked at him, his mouth hanging open mid-sentence. "Let them have it."

"What?! Reid, no! We have the guy's information. Let's study him. There's no need to look anymore into what we had to do." Reid could have smiled. _He's really laying it on thick, isn't he_, he thought to himself. It was rather amusing for him to watch the contradictory front that Morgan was putting on for his sake; amusing and touching. Hadn't he been the one who had seen the connection between their case and that of the victims' in the first place? Hadn't he been the one who was so eager to tell the team everything? The words that he had texted him on the plane came back to him as though they were a part of a distant, prettier dream. _You can't keep doing that, kid…sway the case away from a plausible theory_. Reid realized that Morgan was going to go against what he believed to be beneficial just to save him from the added humility of having the team go through the photos and recordings again. He looked up at Morgan and then he did something that shocked everyone. He, Doctor Spencer Reid, the man who shied away from all forms of physical contact and was uncomfortable with looking people in the eye for too long, held his hand out to Derek Morgan.

He didn't know what had possessed him to do it. He saw his hand extended towards Morgan from a distance, as though he was somebody else looking in upon his actions, but at the same time he felt the weight of everyone's eyes upon his fingers and his slender wrist protruding from his sleeve. His hand began to shake, yet he could not find the strength to withdraw it. _What am I doing_, he asked himself as he cheeks began to grow warm, _Hotch will get us in trouble. I'm making it look like I'm in love with Morgan…like I might have enjoyed what happened between us._

_But did I?_

That was it. He was about to pull his hand back and mutter a quick apology when suddenly Morgan moved forward and pressed his hand against his. Reid looked up in surprise. Morgan's hand was cold, so cold, but his eyes glowed with the warmth of someone who understood and actually cared. _Are you sure_, his eyes seemed to ask – they reminded him of licorice, for some reason - and Reid nodded quickly in response. He was becoming befuddled again and his heart was beginning to beat much too fast so he moved his hand away from Morgan's, but not before giving his fingers a quick impulsive squeeze.

"This is something that we all have to do together. I'd…much prefer it if we looked at everything….examined every little detail. If it's true that this is the man that has been committing these murders then we'll just be one step closer to finding him." Reid looked around, affirming his resolution with each team member who nodded back in return.

"Morgan…" Hotch said, his eyes still on Reid. He turned and faced Morgan, an unspoken question in his eyes. Morgan paused and then nodded slowly.

"I'm so sorry to interrupt with this, guys," Garcia said as images from another screen flashed across her glasses, "but the local police just found two more bodies belonging to a Marcus Eccelson and Edward Baker. Same M.O. Same guy."

It was 5 am in San Francisco. Some people were just beginning to rise and start their daily routines. Fumbling hands turned shower knobs or roused sighing kids while others remained nestled under pillows or tousled hair as the owner slept a peaceful, oblivious sleep. The sun was slowly rising, shining shy rays upon the city and gracing those lucky enough with a timid warmth. But the members of the BAU felt nothing save the cold draft that swept through the dusky lobbyand the weight of their own thoughts settling upon them. For them the morning had not brought tidings of a new day but had instead cast them into another in which grey-eyed killers and dirty intentions ran rampant and free.

**Author's Note**

**Sorry that it took so long to update! I took a trip to Ireland and when I came back I was not only laden with cheesy tourism stuff but about a million (actually, five) new story ideas which I have been working on alongside this one. But I hope you enjoyed! I now understand why the directors of CM are constantly using the conveniently placed 'the local police have just found another body' line. It is, surprise surprise, quiet convenient in a story. On to the next chapter!**


	15. Searing Waters

Morgan slowly eased himself into the bathtub, using either side of the porcelain rim as support. The water was hot, almost scalding, and he hissed slightly when it touched his skin. A part of him knew beforehand that the water was going to be this hot and that he should have waited a few more minutes before getting in yet the other part – the brash, impulsive, fiery one that so often got him into trouble – wanted nothing more than to feel the heat of something, anything, wash over his skin and engulf his body completely. He wasn't a sadist, but there was something oddly pleasing about the hot steam rising around him and the way that his skin tingled and burned beneath the searing water. He sighed and let his head fall back with a thump against the spotless tiles. He didn't want to think about the case, Benedict, or his own past – he just wanted it all to drift away with the steam and disperse somewhere else. Or, at least, he wanted to delay thinking about the inevitable for just a little while. There was only one person that he wanted to focus all of his attention on in that moment.

His phone was somewhere nearby. He had dropped it when he had taken off his clothes and, too wearied to do much about it, had let it lie wherever it had fallen. Now he lifted himself from the bathtub – the water hissed and roared in protest - and leaned over the side, his wet hand groping amongst his wrinkled clothes until he found what he was looking for. He settled back into the water with his phone in his hand (he could practically hear his mother _tsk_ing at his stupidity) and scrolled through his music section. What did he feel like listening to? Something to match his mood, he guessed. But there lay the problem: he really didn't know what he was feeling. He closed his eyes and scrolled blindly through the list, letting his fingers guide him through the multitude of telling possibilities until he finally pressed what he assumed to be the play button.

"_You're just too good to be true_

_Can't take my eyes off of you_

_You'd be like heaven to touch._

_I wanna hold you so much_

_At long last love has arrived_

_And I thank God I'm alive_

_You're just too good to be true_

_Can't take my eyes off of you_"

The sound of Lauryn Hill's voice burst forth like a wave just waiting to be unleashed. It and all of its soulful seduction floated and twirled about him, as vivid to him as a thousand colors, as sweet and spicy as chocolate and cinnamon together. He smiled at the irony of the lyrics and tried to imagine Reid dancing to such a tune. He chuckled at the image of the young agent trying to awkwardly move his hips in an imitation of his own movements, the look of embarrassment on his flustered face as he pulled him closer, the smiling, hesitant, 'no, really Morgan!' in response to his gentle urgings…

"_Pardon the way that I stare_

_There's nothing else to compare_

_The sight of you leaves me weak_

_There are no words left to speak_

_But if you feel like I feel_

_Please let me know that it's real_

_You're just too good to be true_

_Can't take my eyes off of you_"

Morgan sighed, the last of his smile slowly fading away as he forced himself to focus on the task ahead. There were things that he needed to sort out before he completely lost touch with everything around him except for one. He could already feel the signs of disassociation coming on: a heated drive to solve the case fueled by a purpose that had nothing to do with the victims, multiple branches of thought always veering towards the same track, moments of confusion in which he felt himself succumb to the seemingly inevitable gloomy feeling of fatigue, etc. He had enough self-discipline to hide his feelings from the rest of the team (he could even manage a grin now and then) but he knew that if he didn't find some form of resolve, even if it was short lived, he would snap. So, in the short allotment of time that the team had been given to prepare to meet the head of the field office, Morgan had decided to take a bath. It was a bit foolish, he knew, considering how much time they had but, while everyone else straightened their ties and donned their coats, it was his own personal way of preparing himself. He'd just have to get dressed quickly when he was done.

But where to begin? He felt as if there were just so many contradictory feelings and views associated with the mere thought of Spencer Reid. The kid was extraordinarily complex and yet almost naively simple. One moment he'd be furrowing his brow, asking him what it meant to be 'shagged' and the next he'd be unraveling a man's psychology in a matter of seconds or, as, Morgan visualized it, one moment he'd be pursing his lips and in the next he'd be squinting his eyes. In the end, he narrowed it down to three questions.

What did he feel towards Reid?

What did Reid feel towards him?

How would he move forward knowing the answer to these questions?

First, he thought back to the night when he had had sex with Reid. Even now the memory had become dangerously distant and almost dreamlike, but not distant enough for him to forget how he had felt at the time and after the fact. He had had sex with many memorable people in his life but, aside from the fact that he and Reid had been 'forced' (he cringed at the word,) something about this time had been different. He had definitely enjoyed it even though he had been riddled by guilt but somehow the fact that it was _Reid_ was what had turned him on the most. It was a thought that struck him as deceivingly obvious until he realized what he truly meant by it. He had known Reid for a long time: he had witnessed his pain, his happiness, his distress, and his awkward laughter. While he had known his other partners, he had not known them to the extent that he knew and understood Reid. Sure, he had had long lasting relationships with a few of them in which he had gotten to know them very well but he had never reached the level of unconscious bonding with them that he had reached with Reid. Up until know he had just accepted their relationship as that of a relationship between two coworkers, but coworkers didn't whisper their secrets to each other or console each other after nightmares at three in the morning with heartfelt sincerity. That is why he had been so hot for Reid that night: he could almost predict his every move, his every whimper, shudder, and moan, they were just that close.

Aside from that, he knew that he felt something for Reid just in that he responded to Reid's presence. He was always aware of when Reid was in the room. When he wasn't, the people around him sort of floated beneath his radar, never really exciting his attention unless they were threatening in some way. But Reid was the only one who ever stood out to him when he was in the room. Not to say that he commanded his attention, per se, but on a subconscious level he always found his eyes drifting over to wherever Reid was sitting: sometimes watching him speak with a curious sort of interest, sometimes glancing over at him to see his reaction to a piece of news, sometimes making accidental, unseeing eye contact. And then there was the ease that he felt with Reid. Conversation came naturally with them. Theirs was an exchange that was unique and amusing, funny and serious. He remembered all of the times that he had poked fun at Reid for some mishap or ignorance as well as all of the times that he had found himself telling Reid things that he had promised he would keep inside of himself. "You two are like clockwork gears in a well lubed machine," Garcia had once told them. Morgan wondered if anyone else had noticed the slight implication at the time.

But now he had to face the facts. He knew there was only one answer to the first question, it had been there all along, but he had never allowed himself to think on it up until this moment. He loved Spencer Reid. He loved and appreciated him with an aching passion. There had been others in his life more experienced and eager to start a relationship than his young lover but with them he did not necessarily feel the unconscious desire to make them laugh every second nor did he find himself making excuses to be in their presence or reach out and touch them (although the last was rather limited.)

So that was that. He loved Spencer Reid.

"_I need you baby, and if it's quite all right,_

_I need you baby to warm a lonely night_

_I love you baby_

_Trust in me when I say: OK_

_Oh pretty baby, don't let me down_

_I pray._

_Oh pretty baby, now that I found you, stay._

_And let me love you…"_

He mumbled along quietly with the lyrics, finally laughing to himself when he realized just how cheesy they were. But he found them oddly fitting.

But did Spencer Reid love him? Now that was the most important question, or so he thought. There was no way in hell that he was going to force his love onto him if he did not want it. It would be painful in more ways than one if, upon finding that Reid did not love him, he had to force himself to swallow his love and create a respectful distance in their relationship but he would do it. Already he felt himself holding back on some of the things that he wanted to talk about and ask merely for the sake of closeness because he was unsure about how Reid felt. However, he knew that Reid wasn't one to openly admit to loving someone so what was he to do then? Take the lead and push him towards an answer or sit back and feed off of hints and subliminal messages? Pushing him towards an answer seemed impatient and selfish yet at the same time he didn't want to spend the rest of his life waiting for an answer, either. If, by some chance, it turned out that Reid did not share his sentiments he would have had to turn away a lot of people that he knew loved him just to get to that simple answer. _Give him time_, for some reason he could hear his sister, of all people, speaking those words. He could imagine her sitting down on the arm of the couch next to him and looking at him with that all-knowing look that used to annoy him so much when he was young. _Give him time but not so much time that you spend all of your life waiting. Tiem is something that you both deserve._

Time. Oh, how he hated it. For him, time had always been associated with waiting for something bad to end or happiness that was slow in coming and often short lived. So what did that mean for this situation, then? That time would only lead him towards what he feared and yet knew he would have to respect: a 'no' from Spencer Reid?

He decided to give Reid until the end of the case. That was his answer to his final question. He would wait patiently and cease to say anything else about their relationship even though it pained him to do so. He would turn his mind towards the case at hand and focus all of his attention there. And then, after they had caught the bastard who had done so much damage, he would sit down and have a talk would Reid. One day they would figure things out.

With that he lifted himself out of the cold water with the thought that he really should get going and take his ipod off of repeat when suddenly the door creaked open.

"Agent Derek Morga-oh!"

Morgan looked up in surprise at the woman who stood in the bathroom doorway with wide eyes and a hand over her mouth. The profiler in him immediately noticed the damaged, bitten nails and tired eyes while the rest of him noticed that he was halfway out of the bath tub. And quite naked. And quite wet. _Of all times for the door to go swinging open_, he thought to himself, suddenly quite annoyed.

"Can I help you?" he asked slowly, adding emphasis to each word. The woman blinked at him, obviously in a bit of a shock, before responding in a rather rushed voice.

"Angelica Walkers. I…came to pick your team up from…the hotel and…when I got here everybody was downstairs but you so I volunteered to come and get you because I wanted to stop by…by the thing so I…" she suddenly realized she was staring somewhere that she should not have been and quickly turned around. "I knocked," she said defensively, though she was still a bit breathless, "but you didn't answer. So then I pushed the door open and called your name. You know," she said, glancing reproachfully over her shoulder, "you actually had me worried there for a moment. I thought you had been hurt or something."

"Okay, well I'm not hurt," Morgan said, stepping out of the bathtub onto the cold linoleum floor. She quickly turned away. "But neither am I dressed, so if you'll excuse me…."

"Right. See you downstairs. Hopefully we'll have time to try this again…when you're dressed. Although," she added mischievously, glancing over her shoulder again. "I can't say that I haven't been pleased to meet you."

Morgan chuckled and shook his head as he wrapped a towel around his waist. "Quite pleased to meet you, too. Now get out of here before we both get in trouble."

"Right….right, see you downstairs." She looked at him curiously as if she wanted to say something and in that moment it seemed to Morgan as if her eyes had become reproachful as if she were seeing something or someone else in him. Suddenly, with a little toss of her head, she closed the door and stepped into the hallway, her mind quickly crowding with other more important things. But somehow amongst all of the thoughts of unfinished paper work and dead bodies she remembered what she had wanted to ask him. The elevator doors slid open with a crisp 'ding' and she found herself unsure of whether or not she wanted to run back to his room or go downstairs. Finally, a sense of guilt and annoyance with herself won over and she forced herself to step into the small space. She watched the hallway disappear into a thin, black sliver between the shining metal doors, an unfair sort of closure.


	16. Sweet, Stupid Morgan

Emily raised her hands above her head and let out what she wished could have been a contented sigh. Earlier that day she and JJ had gone out to talk to the families of the most recent victims, only to hear a rephrase of the many statements that they had heard before. _Marcus was a good boy…Eddie never got into trouble…just trying to get through school…always looking for a job. _The words of the grief-stricken family members chased each other around in her head, taunting her with their almost implicit meaninglessness. The answer was there somewhere. The _one _thing that connected all of the victims was hidden somewhere in their life stories but she just could not figure out where that connection lay. Not to say that this was the most difficult case that she had ever encountered but perhaps she would have understood the full complexity of it if her thoughts didn't always drift towards Reid and Morgan and their dilemma.

She yawned. JJ sat down beside her with a carton of Chinese food in her hand and smiled understandingly when she saw Emily's sleepy eyes. She pushed a Styrofoam cup of soda her way and said something about its relative flatness that Emily responded to in a distant voice. The team had decided to regroup and reevaluate the evidence before them in the hopes of finding either something that they had missed or some new course of action which would help them find the answer. Emily watched as Reid and Morgan walked into the tiny glass room, hurriedly trying to suppress their smiles. It was obvious that some sort of mischief had occurred and this Emily found rather amusing although she did find it strange that Hotch continued to put them together considering all that had happened. _Perhaps distance would cause more damage than it would good_, she thought to herself as Reid went to pin up a large map on a board and Morgan gravitated towards a table with coffee on it. Angelica, looking harassed and busy as usual popped her head into the room to check in on their progress.

"Everybody please take a seat," Hotch said, sitting down across from Emily. He looked at a bunch of papers in his hands with what people who did not know him so well would have assumed to be a collected expression but the members of the BAU knew to be a look of worry. Eight men had died, two right beneath their very noses. It was crunch time. "Emily, JJ, what did you find out about the families of the newest victims?"

"It's the same story," JJ said, shrugging her shoulders apologetically, "I had Garcia run background checks on both the victims and their families and she came up empty."

"There was one thing – Eddie Moore had gotten into a fight about three days before his death with the bartender in the bar that Morgan and I had checked out," Morgan's hand slipped and he spilled his coffee all over the table. Angelica hurried over to help him, "the bartender didn't press charges even though he sustained minor injuries."

"Do we know what the fight was about?"

"It says here, and I quote, 'that stupid bartender kept trying to insinuate things that weren't true. I was just trying to set him straight – a direction that he was obviously unfamiliar with.'"

"That sounds a bit like homophobia," Reid said thoughtfully, turning away from his task at the board. "You know, bar fights aren't uncommon at all but if the bartender was trying to get Eddie to admit something…"

"We'll put him on our list of people to look out for," Hotch said, jotting down a quick note.

"You know there was one other thing," JJ said thoughtfully, "none of the victims had held a steady job for more than –" she consulted her papers "–two months and that job was held by James Oh at his grandmother's bakery."

"They're young men trying to get through college. It's hard to juggle jobs and grades at that time in one's life until you get the hang out it," said Rossi.

"Rossi, what did you and Reid find at the coroner's office?"

"Well, as Sherlock Holmes here was quick to deduce, all of the victims died from a blunt force trauma to the head. But wait, there's more…"

"There were pieces of glass embedded in the area with the earliest signs of bruising which tells me that the Unsub must have used some sort of glass object as a weapon to prelude the final attack. When attacking the victims with the glass object didn't work he moved onto something heavier to render them unconscious but not necessarily kill them. Judging by the shape and bruising on the back of their heads I'd say that he used a light weight bat to deliver the final blow. After that we know that he must have transported them to a certain location where he could torture them in private."

"The victims also had traces of alcohol in their system which could have helped in rendering them disoriented with the first blow."

"Good. Morgan, what did you and Reid find at the scene?"

"He stuck to his pattern," Morgan said. He looked up at Reid who had begun to trace red lines all over the map, "except this time he chose to dump them in a dumpster in an alley known for drug dealing and prostitution. Judging by tire marks and blood patterns the victims were dragged from a van that must have been parked a few feet away. And another thing: Marcus was still wearing his wristwatch. Now, I know a few things about wristwatches and I can say with utter certainty that that kind of wristwatch was faux-designer. It was meant to look like the real thing but could have been bought anywhere cheap. Point is, it would take someone who knows a lot about watches to see that it was fake. Even then, if the Unsub were after money he could have taken it and sold it on the black market for a costly price, easy." As he was talking Angelica had left the room to take an important call on a completely unrelated case. She came back now looking disgruntled and stood next to Morgan with a distant look on her face.  
"You okay?" he asked her with arms crossed as the team speculated on this new development. She nodded, avoiding his eyes. Then, realizing that an answer was not only desired but polite, she looked at him and nodded.

"Fine," she whispered back. She smiled apologetically, "I've just been a little flummoxed lately, what with the onslaught of cases."

"Well, seeing me rising naked from the bathtub probably didn't help anything."

Nobody gave a second thought to Reid's map suddenly crashing to the floor and the following look of utter horror that he shot at Morgan.

Angelica snickered and shook her head. Then, glaring at Morgan out of the corner of her eyes, she slowly moved away and took a seat beside JJ. Morgan watched her in some confusion. It was obvious that she had wanted to say something funny in retort but something had stopped her, something that he must have said or done. It was a while before he noticed Rossi calling his name. He looked at him, his eyebrows still raised in surprise.

"Didn't you say that you and Reid had spotted a camera some feet away from the dump site?"

"Yeah, but the footage was useless due to lack of maintenance. All it shows is a shadowy figure dumping a body and speeding away."

"So…not to be indelicate with procedure, but what does that tell us? This Unsub must be confident, maybe even arrogantly so. He knew that there was a camera – functional, for all he knew – but he chose to dump the bodies there anyway."

Suddenly everybody jumped and stared at Reid. Having let out a desperate and very uncharacteristic curse he found himself at the center of attention, tangled, as it seemed, in a never-ending piece of crinkled paper. He untangled himself from the fallen map and threw it on the table.

"Actually," he said, quite breathless, "It says the exact opposite. This Unsub was disorganized and inexperienced despite the previous murders – quite indelicate with the procedure himself. If he was even oriented enough to know that the camera was there in the first place he didn't continue with the disposal because he was confident, he continued because he didn't have any other choice. A confident Unsub would have lingered or made some sort of show of letting the people behind the camera know that he knew that he was being watched and, as Morgan said, he sped away as opposed to lingering."

"Okay," Angelica said in a voice that dipped a few notes beneath its usual octave, "but it's obvious that he didn't bother to scope out the place beforehand. He is confident, _at least_, that his method is sound and that we can't trace him by it which leads to one of my thirteen theories that he –"

"Wrong again," Reid exclaimed in exasperation, "this Unsub isn't confident in the least considering the fact that he, oh, I don't know, _attacked the victims from behind_ as opposed to taking them on face-to-face. Rather implicit to those who know that they're doing, don't you think?"

"Reid!"

Reid turned and found himself staring into a pair of angry eyes. Both Morgan and Hotch had spoken and now they looked at him with matching looks of anger on their faces. It suddenly felt very hot and crowded in the room and Reid felt himself begin to sweat beneath what he rightly interpreted as their heated gazes. He cleared his throat. "S-sorry," he mumbled to Angelica who only stared back at him with a gaze full of venom. He began to tack up the map with shaking fingers, the weight of the awkwardness of the situation heavy on his shoulders. "…I was looking at the position of the dumpsites on the map and they all seem to surround this area…here," he circled the space with a red marker, "which most likely means that he lives or works here."

"Wait a minute," Morgan said. He took a step forward and squinted at the region that Reid had circled, "that's where Samuel works, the bartender. Hotch," Morgan turned to Hotch with a sudden flame in his eyes, "Hotch that man has something to do with this. Not only is he at the exact center of all of the dumpsites but each of the victims frequented his bar. Besides, he's a bartender. He works with glass bottles on a daily basis. I promise you, if we examine those shards found embedded in the victims' heads even further we'll find traces of alcohol on them."

"It may not be enough to bring him in…"Hotch said uneasily. Morgan brought his hand to his forehead in frustration. When he pulled it away again he looked as if he were desperately trying to find the right words to convince his superior.

"Hotch," he said slowly, "something's not right with this man, I know it. If you met him you'd feel the same, too." Hotch thought for a moment.

"All right, you follow any leads that you may find. I'll see if I can get you a larger opening."

Morgan nodded and left the room, but not before shooting Reid a questioning glance that he felt had been intentionally ignored.

XXxXxXx

"All right, baby girl, I need you to flex those fine, feline claws of yours and get scratching for me, can you do that?"

"Oh, vision," Morgan could practically hear Garcia smiling on the other end of the line, "you need not tell a lioness to get ready. She senses your desire way before you even know that you had one. What do you think I was doing right before you called?"

"Reading up on that new Tank Girl book that you try to hide beneath your desk?" Garcia huffed in disappointment.

"Damn it, Morgan. You know me too well. What do you want?"

"I need you to look up a bartender by the name of Samuel Fidel."

"Uh, let's see. There are quite a few people with that name but none of them are bartenders nor are they in your immediate area. Can you tell me the name of the bar?"

"Wish I could, baby girl, but it didn't have a visible title anywhere."

"Well then, fear not, vision, I shall still find him for you. What's the address?

Morgan scrolled through his phone. "461 Pilot Road,"

"All right-y then. You know, contrary to whatever you may think, I was preparing these fascinating kitty claws for digging right before I picked up the Tank Girl book."

"_Riiiiiiight_," Morgan rolled his eyes, "tell me his name, baby girl."

"Oh my, he's kinda creepy looking, isn't he? Or maybe that's just the picture on his driver's license? Sheesh, I mean it's not like people look like models on those things but –"

"I need a name, Garcia," Morgan sang into the phone.

"Oh, right. The name of the owner of that bar is actually Samuel Chevalier. He and his brother Izaya were born and raised in Washington, DC by his father who worked as a lawyer and his mother who worked as a correspondence analyst. They moved out here when Samuel was ten because mom had been offered a similar position at a different post. Samuel got all As in school but outside of that he was generally undistinguished. His teachers say that he was a bit of a loner while his brother was the one who preferred to surround himself with friends and acquaintances. Let's see, it also says here…oh my…."

"What? What is it?"

"It says here that Jeremiah Fidel, a close friend of both Samuel and Izaya, died in a car accident…he was hit by a drunk taxi driver. He died before the paramedics arrived on scene."

"Fidel…Fidel…Samuel used Jeremiah's last name when he first introduced himself to Emily and I. Garcia, do you know if Samuel was there when Jeremiah was hit?"

"Yes, he was."

"Baby girl, where would I be without you?"

"Hopelessly lost. Do you need anything else?"

"Another pot of coffee and an Advil,"

"Oh, love, I told you that I'm the only addiction that I'll ever allow you to indulge in. Garcia out."

Morgan snapped the phone shut with a sigh. He heard footsteps approaching and realized that the meeting must have been over. He was about to go and tell Hotch what he had found but ended up running smack dab into Angelica.

"Whoa, whoa, sorry!" he said, putting his arms on her shoulders to steady her. She shrugged his hands off and took a step back.

"Oh. It's you." She said, rubbing her temple. She suddenly felt very dizzy and doubted that the fog that suddenly obscured her vision could be seen by anyone else.

"Look, have I done something to offend you?"

"Excuse me?" She yanked her head away from her hand.

"You've been acting very standoffish. One minute we'd be laughing and joking around and the next you're glaring at me as if I did something."

"I'm sorry if it may seem that way. I can assure you that it's nothing that you did." Morgan looked at her with a gaze that was at once curious and suspicious, a gaze that had melted the hearts of many men and women before her. But she only stared back in guarded contempt.

"You're doing it again," he said.

"I…I don't have time for this," she turned on her heel and began to walk away.

"Thirteen theories?" he called after her. She stopped in her tracks. "If I'm not mistaken, you just accepted this job and you already have four cases on your hands."

"Do me a favor and leave the profiling to the victims and the Unsubs," she hissed over her shoulder. Morgan shook his head and hooked his fingers in his pockets.

"No, I'm not profiling you. Nor am I trying to make you uncomfortable or intrude upon your personal business when I say that I just want to help you in any way that I can."

"But you don't know me."

"That doesn't matter."

She turned around and Morgan was pleased to see that she was smiling even though her eyes seemed shinier than usual. "You're a pretty cool dude, Derek Morgan," she said, punching him playfully on the shoulder. "You just…rise like a God from water and start dishing out help where it's needed." Morgan laughed. "I have heard it put many ways. Is there a place around here where we can go over some of your cases and theories in private? An extra pair of eyes wouldn't hurt."

"Yeah…yeah, there's a café nearby that stays open late. I'll find you in an hour or so and we can head over."

"All right, I'll see you then."

She nodded appreciatively at him and walked away, the heels of her worn out sneakers thumping softly on the linoleum floor. Morgan wasn't exactly keen on spending more hours going over cases. All he really wanted to do was find Reid and talk to him to see what his sudden flash of anger was about and maybe, _maybe_, if it was okay with the young agent, take him out for a bite to eat in one of San Francisco many soothing jazz bars but couldn't bring himself to do such a thing knowing that the woman, Angelica Walkers, was just barely floundering in what he had had to learn to get used to when he first joined the BAU at a much lower rank. Once again, he was just about to go and find Hotch when suddenly Reid rounded the corner. The two men stared at each other in an electric sort of surprise before Reid readjusted his bag, ducked his head, and quickly pushed past Morgan.

"Reid!" Morgan called but Reid just kept walking. Morgan shrugged. His mind was too full with a wide-range of different and sometimes contradicting things for him to consider the possibility that Reid might have overheard and misinterpreted his bath tub comment to Angelica.

**Author's Note: Oh, Delia Cerrano, you jinxed it! Tsk, tsk. I'm just kidding. Spoiler to all those who dare read a spoiler: you might want to start saying your good byes to Reid. Who knows? He might suddenly disappear in the next chapter :) Reviews always welcome, support always appreciated. Hope you enjoyed!**


	17. Shattered

"So this is now officially out of my hands. Damn. Sammy? Sammy?! _Samuel?!_"

"Stop, Benedict."

"Look, we have a problem, a big problem. Things were going so well, I thought…shit, Sammy, I really don't know where to begin. That stupid whore…"

"_Hey_. Stop. Just stop talking. Close your mouth. Think. Now speak."

"Okay. I've been following them like you told me to and they've just been going about their lives and the case as usual. They seemed happy, Sammy, truly genuinely happy. Earlier today I watched them walk back to the hotel after doing something for the case and – get this – Agent Morgan made a grab at the Doctor's hand as if he wanted to hold it. He quickly stopped himself before…look, you get the point. But tonight…oh, tonight Agent Morgan screwed up real bad. He took one of the women working for the SFPD on a date at Laney's and the Doctor –"

"A date? Are you sure?"

"Well, what else could it have been? Look, Sammy, you forget that I worked with him in Quantico. I know his type. He's what the kids nowadays call a player. That's why I knew it would be difficult to get him to realize his true love for the Doctor but, Sammy, that's not all –"

"Wait, shut up. Let me think. He was on a date with a woman. Is he still there?"

"No. But I'm trying to tell you that the date isn't important. The only reason that I called is because he and the Doctor...hold on, Sammy. Shh, shh, shhh, stay still, Doctor. You'll make yourself sick. Sammy?"

"This has gone too far. I don't think that things are going as smoothly as you say that they have been especially since this happened. No, if Agent Morgan really loved him he wouldn't feel the need to date other people…it's time."

"Time? Time for what?"

"Time for me to take things into my own hands. The Doctor is there?"

"Yes. He's groveling at my feet. We're in the alley directly behind the corner of 35th and Lincoln."

"Good. Keep him there. I'm on my way."

"What about Agent Morgan?"

"Make sure he stays away. I'll deal with him later."

Earlier that evening…

Time was a funny thing. Morgan was prepared to swear to the fact that it, and all of its laws and theories, just did not apply to him anymore. It seemed like only a second ago he had been sitting on his hotel bed slipping on his shoes as his car keys hung precariously from his mouth. He could barely remember the flurry of activity that must have taken place before that: he knew that he must have spoken to Hotch about Samuel as well as completing several other important things for the case but when he looked back on it all he could only remember a fuzzy sort of buzz. He never blanked out like this. Ever. Reid had told him that it was anxiety that caused him to blank out. When Morgan had asked, rather testily, what he had meant by it Reid had just pursed his lips and averted his eyes, a surefire sign that he had let something slip.

Everything had been moving fast, so sickeningly fast, and then suddenly it seemed to him as if things had just slowed down in a very drastic way.

He saw Angelica raise the straw to her lips as though she were underwater. She was smiling and her eyes sparkled as though she was remembering something funny and Morgan thought that she must have been recounting some amusing tale. He didn't know. His attention was divided: part of him watched her facial expressions so that he may respond accordingly (she chuckled around her straw and he smiled) while the other part of him, the one that was slowly beginning to take over, lingered on Spencer Reid. He had promised himself that he would refrain from thinking about the young genius but the kid really had a way of _getting_ to him. It had started with him thinking about something that Reid had said earlier that day (harmless enough, he often thought about what people said, it was human nature) but then it had turned into more than that. He thought about the way that Reid's usually dark eyes lit up when he was onto something, the way that he casually stuffed his hands in his pockets and leaned back when he was comfortable, earlier that day when he had subconsciously tried to hold Reid's hand and then had promptly felt embarrassed about it, Reid's hands on his chest that one night, so long ago…

There his thoughts remained until he suddenly became aware of someone calling his name. He roused himself and looked at Angelica.

"Ah, man. Look, I'm sorry, I –"

"Don't be. You okay?" she cocked her head at him. He grinned in what he hoped was a lighthearted manner.

"Yeah, I've just been really tired lately."

"I don't blame you nor can I thank you enough for lending me a hand – or, rather, your eyes. This must've taken quite a toll on you," she tapped the pile of cases that they had been sifting through for the past few hours and it was then that Morgan noticed the flashy black diamond on her finger. He held out his hand and she placed hers in it.

"You're engaged," he said in surprise, looking up at her. She laughed.

"Derek, I've been talking about my engagement for the past five minutes! Where were you?"

"Oh my-" Morgan ran his hand over his face. "Angelica, I am so sorry."

"Uh-huh. Right, well, let me give you a brief summary. The guy that I'm engaged to – Anderson – he's really kind of cool. Real cool," she looked down at her ring lovingly and began to spin it with her thumb, "Which is why I wanted to apologize for my reaction to the whole bathtub thing. I was a bit flirtatious. I guess I'm just really not used to the…"

"Loss of freedom?"

"Yeah, in a sense. Jeez, it sounds so bad, doesn't it? But it's worth it in the end because, when you do find that person – you know, the mythical one for you – your life just…it changes in a really beautiful way. You sacrifice nothing when you love someone, I think. You just replace, gain, and grow." she cleared her throat, obviously embarrassed. "Are you married?"

"I don't know," Morgan had no idea what inspired him to say such a thing but, for some reason, he felt like his response did hit close to home. She nodded as if this were the most reasonable answer in the world and put her straw in her mouth again. At first, Morgan had been stunned to find that she drank her beer with a straw but she had dismissed his surprised looks with a wave of the hand and a muttered, "I drank my first beer through a straw and I will take my last though an IV, if it comes to that."

"Is there something on your mind?" she said softly, watching him. But Morgan barely heard her; He could have sworn that he had seen…

He stood up and stared intently at the person sitting nearest the piano. It had been a quick glance – little more than accidental eye contact – but he thought that he knew the man. "What? What is it?" Angelica asked, scanning the crowd.

"Wait a minute, that's…." his voice trailed off as a large group of people moved in front of the piano, obscuring his view of the man. "That's…"

"Derek, you're bleeding!" Morgan looked down at his hand in surprise. A crimson flower was beginning to bloom on the yellow tablecloth beneath his palm. He removed his hand from the table. In his haste to stand up he had set it down on the blade of a nearby knife.

"Here, why don't you –" Angelica reached for his hand and then pulled back indecisively.

"No, I'm fine. I'm fine."

"No, that's not fine."

"Believe me, I've suffered worse. Here, look, I'm applying pressure….see that? Just a scratch," Angelica took his hand and inspected it suspiciously.

"Satisfied?" he asked mockingly. She twisted her lips into an unsatisfied frown and gingerly closed his fingers over his palm. He hissed in pain and her frown deepened.

"Why don't we –"

They both turned their heads in alarm as the sound of glass breaking and a man's cursing bounced around the room. Morgan jumped up again, this time cocksure of the voice that he heard stuttering a quick apology.

"Derek!"

He ignored Angelica's frantic calling and ran towards the server who was stooping to pick up a platter covered in wet shards of glass. "Where did he go?" Morgan demanded.

"Who, the clumsy son of a bitch? He went that way," he said, jerking his thumb at the back door, "Hey, if you catch him, tell him that he owes me money for new –" but by the time he looked over his shoulder Morgan was already gone, a door slamming angrily in his wake.


	18. Bloody Hands and Flashing Eyes

_Around the same time as the start of the previous chapter…_

Reid wandered down the street, his shoulders hunched against the late-night revelers that often blocked his path and called out to him with breaths that reeked of alcohol. Once a lady (or was it a man?) in a blue top had sauntered up to him and grabbed playfully at his belt. He couldn't remember what he had said to her or what he had been trying to do with his hands: all he remembered was a touchy, heavyset man with a toad-like face storming up to the two of them and threatening to shove his something up somewhere that Reid really didn't want to think about. It would never do. The only reason why he had left the office in the first place was because he simply could not focus. He had tried to lose himself in the math of the case and follow the tangled strings until he found an answer but the words in the files seemed to jump and skitter about the page randomly and the walls seemed to move in closer every time he looked up. He had said something about a headache in response to Emily's worried glances and she had nodded, relieved, and said that she was having one, too. While this was not far from the truth Reid had to admit to himself that he was distracted for a completely different reason.

_Fine. I've just been a little flummoxed lately, what with the onslaught of cases._

_Well, seeing me rise naked from the bathtub probably didn't help anything._

Stupid Morgan. Stupid, sweet, faithless Morgan. Reid could not even begin to imagine why Angelica had seen Morgan naked nor did he want to. _Although there really is only one logical answer_, he thought to himself angrily. He ran into a trash bin and cursed, earning several confused looks. No doubt he seemed drunk and very out of place, what with his tousled hair and sunglasses. He had thrown them on as an afterthought only seconds before leaving the office. For some reason, people tended to gawk at him much less when he had his sunglasses on, even when it was nine at night. It was silly, he knew, but ever since he had had sex with Morgan he had felt a certain ownership over the man's body as if, now that his hands had felt the smooth, sinuous curves and the rippling muscles, _he_ had sole rights to Morgan's sexuality and, by extension, his affections. He knew the science behind the betrayal that he felt: Morgan was his first 'real' love thus it was only natural that he felt that Morgan had desecrated something that might not have even been there in the first place and yet….

He stopped in front of what looked like a jazzy café and blinked at the neon sign that read Laney's Café. He wasn't too keen on going back into an enclosed space but at the same time he was much less keen on getting shoved and spit at by drunken students. The people in this café seemed sober and there was a little spot by the piano that he could squeeze into and remain relatively unseen. Morgan, he realized as he stepped into the warm café, was what everybody playfully coined as a player but Reid wasn't so sure that The Great Charmer had ever played this game before. So that must have changed the rules – _he_, Doctor Spencer Reid – must have changed the rules to Morgan's game. But a game it was nonetheless and right now Reid had absolutely no idea which cards he held or which piece he represented. Still, he was _in_ the game and he knew that it would be the height of denial to deny the fact that, when he was with Morgan, all of the other players were eliminated. This thought comforted him and although anger still simmered within him he felt slightly more relaxed.

That is, until he saw the two people seated at the table nearest the window.

He froze mid-step and for a minute everything went blank. Sounds, scents, emotions, and thoughts ceased to exist as he stared at Morgan and Angelica smiling, laughing, and sharing glances as Angelica sipped from her beer and told an animated story. Morgan seemed so at ease with himself and this, above everything else, is what really got to Reid. Once again he found himself in a position in which he felt as if the oxygen had been sucked from his body while Morgan seemed as content as any man could ever hope to be. Little did he know that Morgan's thoughts were not on the woman before him but rather his own hands which lay numb at his side. He jumped when one of the servers tapped him on the shoulder.

"Whoa, hey, _hi_!" he said cheerfully, "Didn't mean tuh scare ya. Whatchoo looking at?" the man's green eyes wandered over to Morgan's table and then quickly snapped back to Reid's face. "You okay, buddy?"

"I'm fine," Reid muttered in a weak voice. Stomach churning, he turned to leave but the server moved in front of him, a pitying smile on his face. Reid did not trust that smile at all and, perhaps, if he had been more in control of his thoughts he would have pushed past the server instead of letting himself be shepherded back into the café.

"Man, ya don't look good. Kinda green aroun' the gills, ya know? How about this, I'll get ya a free tonic, on the house!"

"No, really. I'm just going to leave. I…I have to be somewhere." The server shook his head.

"Look, man, I know it's nunna my business but ya came in here for a reason with a sad look on ya face– maybe yer avoidin' sumthin', I dunno – but ya ain't leavin' so quick. That tells of sumethin' and -honestly - I just don't wanna have it on my conscience that I let a fellow brother go wanderin' out in the street with a – wha' is it, broken hot?" He gestured for Reid to go to the empty seat by the piano and, too tired to complain, Reid submitted to his goading. "I'll be right back with ya drink." The server winked at him and disappeared behind the bar.

Reid sighed and sank back into the worn cushions. _I could just get up and walk away_, he thought to himself, _but it would be really immature of me to do so. _He heard Angelica laugh again. If the two hadn't seen him when he had first walked in then it was possible that they wouldn't see him now. Besides, to leave now would be considered running away and that was something that he just would not allow himself to do. After all, the café was nice (the Beatles hit song 'Help!' was playing somewhere on a jukebox) and much more comfortable than the street. He told himself that he would let Morgan stick to his business and he would stick to his own but something told him that this was easier said than done. The server came back with two glasses in his hand and handed one to Reid.

"It's ginger ale with a hinta the best Irish," he said, handing him a glass of clear liquid as he sat down across from him. He raised his glass to his lips but stopped midway, raising his eyebrows implicitly at Reid. Reid wasn't very fond of drinking but now more than ever he felt the sharp tug of temptation, the promise of temporary oblivion. He raised the glass to his lips and took a long, hard drink before he could stop himself. He felt the burning sensation like liquid fire wash down his throat and set fire to his chest. He set the glass down only when he felt that he couldn't take the heat anymore and begin to sputter.

"Jesus," the server said as he watched Reid, his eyes catching the light of a few nearby candles "but ya look like ya just oughtta spermhood, ha ha _ha_! Ya are over eighteen, aren'tcha? Yeah? Ya lucky, I'll take ya word for it," he leaned over and patted Reid's knee before pointing at the glass that he had set down on the table between them, "That' speaks o' trouble." Reid blushed.

"Sorry, I don't normally drink," he mumbled, slightly taken aback by his own actions. He was resisting the urge to peek behind him. The server _tsk_ed and placed the glass back in his hand.

"See, that's wha' I'm talkin' about. Tell me yer story, brother, but first – let the liquid lady flow!" He tilted his glass towards Reid's and they both finished their drinks in a single swallow. Reid couldn't help it. He glanced behind him.

"Ah, lemme get us one more round before ya star'!" he heard the server say. He must have dismissed the man for he heard him stand up with a disappointed "I'll jus' get myself one, then." It took him a while to pick out Morgan and Angelica in the crowd – his vision was a bit blurry – but when he did he saw Morgan's head bent over something on the table. He watched him take her hand in his and inspect it as if it were the most impressive thing that he had ever seen. "Actually," he said, turning to the server just in time, "I think I'll take that second drink."

The server nodded happily and returned with a second round with twice as many glasses on the platter. Reid couldn't remember all that he said after that. All he remembered was the way that the server's smile had begun to slip with every quickly-spoken word before he had finally gotten up and left Reid sitting there alone, the five glasses that sparkled with the remnants of his regret at his feet, and the sickness that was beginning to wash over him. He wasn't necessarily drunk but he was feeling exceedingly dizzy and his vision faded in an out of pulsing blurs. _Why am I here_, he wondered as he tried to put his hand to his forehead and block out the lights. He missed and ended up hitting his ear instead. There had been a man...he had been watching him…he glanced behind him and it was then that he met Morgan's eyes. He felt an electric jolt spike through him and he quickly turned away, too quickly and the room began to spin. He shut his eyes. He heard Morgan's chair scrape back, heard him say, 'Wait a minute, that's….' and waited in suspense for the strong hand on the back of the chair, the suddenly worried eyes and handsome face to appear beside him but he never came. Suddenly he felt the overwhelming need to leave. Morgan's presence mixed with the sudden disorientation was just too much for him to cope with. He opened his eyes but by now his vision had been reduced to a whitish screen that pulsed with different colors. He mentally made a plan of what he would do next.

Get out

Get back to the hotel

At this point simply getting his thoughts together proved to be a painful ordeal. Actually understanding how and why they applied to him proved much more difficult. Teeth clenched, he braced his palms on the arms of the chair and slowly pulled himself up, all the while grimacing with the effort. He couldn't feel his feet and this worried him immensely for it seemed as if he were suspended in the air, supported only by his straining arms. Panic began to set in followed by a cool, almost imperceptible logic that promised him that his feet actually were there and all he had to do was settle his weight on them to get going. He began to count down in his head, 'five…four…three…two…one.'

He threw his weight forward with a stifled grunt of pain, feeling red hot spikes shoot up his legs. Fortunately, he did land on his feet; unfortunately they carried him into a platter of a passing server. "Sorry," he muttered as broken glass went cascading around them. But he didn't stay behind to prove his sincerity. He knew that any second Morgan would be looking his way and the last thing that he wanted to do was confront the man. Dizzy and disoriented, he made his way towards the door at what he thought was a calm pace even though he wanted to do nothing more than stand still for just a second. He was half way to there when he heard Morgan ask the server where he had gone. Sweating now, Reid shoved through the back door, glanced once around his shoulder and slipped away into the cold night.

xXxXxXxXx

"Reid!" Morgan burst through the door and looked around. He had entered a backdoor patio space that extended forward a few feet before branching out into two alleyways that ran opposite from each other in a 'T' shape. He ran forward as fast as his legs could carry him, calling Reid's name over and over again until the people in the houses surrounding the café woke from their sleep and peeked irritably out of their window. He stopped where the two pathways stretched away from each other and looked both ways indecisively. They both seemed to lead into darkness but he thought that he saw a slouched figure walking quickly through the one on the right.

"Reid!" Morgan ran that way and soon caught up with the man. "Hey! Hey, wait a minute, talk to me! Talk to me!" He ran in front of Reid and put his hands on his shoulders but Reid just pushed him away with unexpected force and Morgan, caught off guard, stumbled into a wall. He barely noticed that his hand had started bleeding again.

"Oh, no you don't," Morgan said gruffly. He caught up with Reid again but this time he wrapped his arms around him and held him in a tight embrace. Reid squirmed desperately, his eyes flashing angrily, and Morgan had to struggle to hold on. In the end Reid grabbed his shoulders and pushed him back, trying to create as much distance between them as was possible.

"Let go of me, man!" he cried. Everything was spinning and his head hurt, but through the blurriness Morgan's face appeared clearer than ever. He could see the telltale signs of anxiety mingled with righteous anger. Morgan let go off him, hesitantly, and as soon as he was out of his grasp Reid shoved him away forcefully.

"Hey…" Morgan panted as Reid turned his back on him, his palm pressed against his forehead. "Hey, talk to me. Yell at me, use the worse curses that you know, hit me if it helps you get your point across but, Reid…tell me what's on your mind."

"Why do you care what's on my mind?" Reid said in a voice that seemed more like a moan than anything. Morgan took a step closer to him.

"Reid, we're friends. No, man, we're more than that…"

"What? You mean that we're lovers? Morgan, I'll bet you've said that exact same thing to hundreds of other people."

"What are you trying to say? Reid, were you drinking in there?" Morgan said slowly when he caught the whiff of alcohol on Reid's breath. His posture had suddenly become defensive.

"I'm not _trying_ to say anything. But if you can't figure it out why don't you go talk to her about it over another beer?"

"Her?" Morgan thought a moment, eyebrows drawn "You mean Angelica? Reid, that was nothing! I was helping her out with cases!" Morgan was practically yelling. He knew what Reid was implying and he did not care for it at all. Somewhere deep down inside him he must have known that Reid was under the influence of something and, even though he was hurt, he would never speak so brashly. But that knowledge was buried deep down beneath layers of defensive irritation. Reid rubbed his palm against his forehead harder and sighed.

"Morgan, I've known you for years. That's how I know that you just – you can't keep your hands off of any pretty woman that walks by." Reid gave a harsh laugh, "You can't even keep a relationship for more than two months, can you? I was stupid to allow myself to turn into one of your toys."

"Spencer Reid," Morgan said in an even voice, "you are one of the most important –"

"What? I'm one of the most important people in your life? Morgan, that doesn't even make any sense,"

"And why not?"

"Because…because…we're different," Reid felt cold raindrops began to fall on his face. He crossed his arms against the sudden cold but Morgan just stood there, letting himself get drenched by the rain. "You and I, we're…polar opposites. You're so good at charming people and making them believe that, to you, they're absolutely perfect in every way. Yet at the same time you…you have this way of making them realize their faults without feeling, you know, _wrong_. And I," Reid laughed again, not realizing that, in talking about Morgan, he was really describing how the older agent made him feel. "I only ever connect with the people that I find in books. So I guess what I'm trying to ask is…why me, Morgan? Why would you possibly even consider me?" Morgan was silent. By now the rain had increased and water began to drip from his nose and hands but still he did not move. He was staring at the ground beneath Reid's feet with distant eyes, as if he were trying to make a difficult decision.

"Every night," he said slowly, his eyes traveling up to Reid's face, "since the start of all this, I imagine two people before I fall asleep. They're always the same, they're always happy and – Reid, listen to me – they're always together. Sometimes they're just sitting in the same room together, drinking coffee, and being content and other times they're traveling the world and seeing a movie every Sunday night…sometimes they're lying in a bed next to each other, just talking. Those two people are you and I, Reid. I just…can't get you out of my head, trust me, I've tried but everything you do – _every little thing_ you do – keeps me up at night, wishing that we were together, man." Morgan ran a sopping sleeve over his face, to no avail, and Reid had trouble believing that the wetness around his eyes was caused by the rain only. He suddenly felt drained of all energy and very confused. Morgan seemed genuine – knowing him for years gave Reid the distinct upper hand of knowing when the agent was lying – and, for one crazy moment, Reid wanted nothing more than to embrace him just so that he could feel his warm chest and strong heartbeat against his skin one more time. Morgan took a step forward and Reid did the same, unsure of where his next steps would lead him when suddenly a thought came slithering into his head.

_Don't do it. You know what he's like – you saw it for your own eyes. You're better off as you've always been: alone._

Reid froze and frowned at Morgan. The man was good with tricking people, very good and the possibility of Morgan actually falling in love with him was ridiculous, almost as ridiculous as the chances of the team ever finding a break in this case. He spun around (he had to stop doing that) and began to walk away at a brisk pace. He waited for Morgan to shout his name, call after him that he was being heartless, stupid, immature but Morgan was silent. Reid left him standing stalk still, tears streaming down his face and mingling with the rain as he watched his lover walk away.

XxXxXx

Reid wasn't sure how far he had walked. All he knew was that he must have put a pretty good distance between himself and Morgan because the sky above him had grown considerably darker and his feet had begun to hurt. He felt sicker than ever but due to the combined stress of his argument with Morgan and his previous disposition he had no strength to follow any train of thought. All he knew how to do at the moment was walk: put one foot somewhere and try to get the other one in front of that. He heard a glass break behind him and turned around but there was no one there: only the obscuring darkness. He attributed the noise to an echo in his mind from earlier that evening and kept walking. What had he been drinking anyway? An Irish scotch or whiskey, he did not know. Whatever it was, it had been strong, too strong for his liking. He could still taste it in his mouth: sweet and sour, an underlying tang…

He stopped in his tracks, taking note of the taste in his mouth. He thought he heard a muffled cough and turned around again but there was no one there. He may not have known a lot about alcohol but he did know that that extra taste in his mouth was out of place. It was almost as if…

Reid stuck his finger down his throat and doubled over. How long had it been since he had drank the stuff? An hour? Two? How long did it take for the drugs to take effect? For the life of him, he could not remember. He heaved and heaved but all that came up was thin, sour bile that scorched his throat. He felt strong hands on his shoulder and he thought, _thank God, it's Morgan. _But the voice that spoke next was definitely not that of his fellow colleague but rather someone who he had forgotten completely.

"Take it easy, Doctor. Bet you want your Special Agent Derek Morgan now more than ever, huh?"

"Please…I need water…with salt…"

"Do you know who I am?"

"Benedict,"

The man smiled and pulled Reid up so that he was looking him in the face. Reid noticed the glint of satisfaction in the man's hungry eyes but felt too weak to pull away. "I need help, I need something to drink, I-" he suddenly remembered his gun stowed away in his holster. He had forgotten that he still had it on him and wondered if the other man had noticed it yet. He made a grab for it but he was too uncoordinated and Benedict knocked it away. "You wanna play dangerous, huh?" he knocked Reid under the chin so hard that the young agent took a few scattered steps back before falling to the ground. His head hit the cement with a nerve-wracking 'thunk' and for a minute everything faded to black. When he came to he felt Benedict's toes nudging his side and he groaned. The man's toad-like face loomed above him with what Reid thought was a worried expression.

"Now why'd you have to go and pick a fight with Agent Derek Morgan, hm?" he said, pulling out a phone, "I thought you two were in love but_ noooo _obviously things aren't working out so well. I was going to leave you two alone, you know, and head back to Virginia but it looks like you've hit a rock wall. So this is now officially out of my hands. Damn. Sammy? Sammy?! _Samuel?!_" Reid heard him yell in the phone. He turned his head and saw a shining piece of metal a few feet away and realized foggily that it must have been his gun, but he couldn't be sure. He could crawl towards it but there was a high chance that either a.) He wouldn't be able to reach it in time without Benedict realizing his intentions or b.) It wasn't his gun at all. All the same, he was determined to give it one more try.

"…they seemed happy, Benedict, truly genuinely happy. Earlier today I watched them walk back to the hotel after doing something for the case and – get this – Agent Morgan made a grab at the Doctor's hand as if he wanted to hold it. He quickly stopped himself before…"

Reid rolled over onto his stomach and gasped in pain. Everything turned black again but he knew that he had to keep moving: he had to get to his gun. So, blinded, he pushed himself up on shaking arms and began to drag himself across the wet cement.

"No. But I'm trying to tell you that the date isn't important. The only reason that I called is because he and the Doctor…hold on, Sammy," he was halfway there when suddenly Benedict ground the heel of his boot into his hand. Reid howled in pain and tried to move away but Benedict did not budge.

"Shh, shh, shhh, stay still, Doctor," he said sweetly. "You'll make yourself sick. Sammy?…Time? Time for what?" Benedict glanced down at him, "Yes. He's groveling at my feet… What about Agent Morgan? Well," he said, flipping the phone shut, "someone's coming to take care of you. You'll be in really good hands from now on."

"Please, I don't want to go," Reid said, tears rolling down his face. Benedict lifted his foot and Reid yelped. "Just let me go back, I won't tell, I swear I won't tell anybody –"

"No, you need a special sort of help that only _he_ can give you. Now shut up and stay still if you know what's good for you." Benedict set his foot heavily on Reid's back and began humming to himself, sometimes staring down at Reid, sometimes turning to glance down the alleyway as if he were looking for someone. At one point he said, "Would Agent Derek Morgan have followed you?" Reid just shook his head, trying to get his thoughts in order as blood ran from his mouth and pooled on top of his rain-slickened hands. After about thirty minutes (Reid wasn't sure of the time, he had blacked out so often) a car sped down the alley, stopping just a few feet in front of his body. A handsome man with eyes that mimicked the very rain itself stepped out and looked around.

"Benedict!" the man called. Benedict hopped up and joined him on the other side of the car. The two men exchanged hurriedly whispered words before the man who had gotten out the car told Benedict to open the trunk and walked around to look at Reid.

"He looks terrible. But terribly beautiful, don't you think?" he said softly. Reid felt the man's eyes raking over his body. He hesitantly lifted his head and instantly regretted it. By some trick of the light the man's eyes flashed like a cat's and his smile widened when he saw Reid looking at him. "I can see why Agent Morgan fell for you. What's wrong with him?"

"I might have paid one of the servers one hundred dollars to put something in his drink when he first arrived at the café," Benedict said, coming around to join him. The man flashed him a look and Benedict raised his hands defensively. "I…I knew that he'd see Morgan in there with the woman and, since I couldn't intercept him without being caught, I thought that the best thing to do would be to spike his drink so that he would be too high to notice the impact of the situation."

"You carry date rape drugs in your pocket, Benedict?" the man asked scornfully. Benedict twisted his lips and the man hissed in disgust. "Just help me tie him up. I don't really want to do this, Agent Reid, but I see that you two had a bit of s skirmish," he nodded towards the glint of metal and Reid realized that it must have been his gun, "which is very naughty. You should save that defiance for your lover's bedroom, don't you think?" He winked at him as Benedict flipped him over and began to tie a thick cord around his wrists and ankles. His chances of escaping were getting smaller and smaller every second until, in the end, he knew that there was only one thing left to try. He took a breath in.

"MORGAN!" he cried in his loudest voice. Immediately both men fell on him like lions at their prey. One put his hand at his mouth while the other got out a roll of duct tape.

"Naughty boy likes to yell," he heard the man grunt. He felt some sort of cloth being shoved down his throat followed by a patch of tape that was slapped over his mouth to secure the cloth in place. He began to panic. He could still breathe but such an obstruction unnerved him and he began to kick his bound legs and thrash about with all of his might. A door slammed. There was a smell of alcohol…something wet plastered across his nose…a stinging sensation…a migraine growing…hands on his face…dizziness again…studded breathing…

He gave one last tortured gasp before his body went completely limp.

xXxXxxXx

**Author's Note: I just realized that both Reid and Morgan got blood on their hands during this chapter. I actually didn't intend for that to happen. Poor Pretty Boy. Why is it so much fun to knock you around? I'm sorry, but it just really is. Just to clear something up: I promise promise promise that there is nothing between Angelica and Morgan. She has her man (the name might have sounded familiar *wink*) and he has his man, although it might not look like that at the moment. So what'd ya think? Was I too hard on Reid? I certainly hope not….things might just be getting a little bit harder….**


	19. Flashback

_Flashback…_

"All right, kid. Keep your eye on the ball," Morgan balanced the baseball in his palm and looked implicitly at Reid over the top of his sunglasses. The young genius wasn't paying him or the ball the least bit of attention. Instead he kept glancing at the sky, the bat in his hand, and the bird that lighted on the fence and cocked its head at him curiously. Morgan sighed. He knew what Reid was doing.

"Knock it off," he said in a warning tone. Reid stared at him with a feigned look of surprise on his face.

"Knock what off?"

"Come on, pretty boy. Don't try to play sly with me. You're doing that thing where you calculate the trajectory of the ball using some fancy mathematical equation." Reid frowned in the most unconvincing way and shrugged his shoulders.

"I'm just checking out that bird, man."

"What? So you're into ornithology now?"

"Actually, I read seven books on the subject last week. Did you know that –" Morgan leaned back and slung the ball at him. Reid ducked and the ball flew into the fence behind him. "What was that for?!" Reid asked angrily. Morgan smiled and shook his head.

"You see that right there? Reflex. You apply that when you swing the bat and we'll be able to win next Wednesday's game for sure. No calculations, no estimations, nothing. Got it?" Reid would have made some snappy retort in response but it was hot out and every ball that soared over Morgan's head and into the bushes beyond reminded him that he really did not like the sun.

"Got it," he touched the tip of his bat to the ground like he had seen others do and then swung it over his shoulder. It took Morgan all of his strength not to comment on the uselessness of the act but he refrained. Reid nodded at him, his eyebrows furrowed handsomely over his sunglasses, and Morgan threw the ball again.

It flew towards him at an impressive speed…Reid licked his lips…he swung….the polished wood collided violently with the ball…it flew again…and flew…and flew…

And bounced off of the fence to their left. Reid cursed, much to Morgan's amusememt.

"I don't understand! It should have worked. I applied the rotation equation perfectly-"

"You _what_?!"

"I…what?"

Morgan shook his head again and wondered how many times Reid would inspire him to do so before he broke his neck. He picked up a baseball from the ground (by now they had been spread all over the place) and threw it in the air. It's not that Reid couldn't hit a ball. On the contrary, he _could_ hit it with such precision as to make Morgan wave the white flag but when he did hit it the ball often went flying in the wrong direction.

"You know, Reid," Morgan said as the ball came back down and hit his hand with a hard _whack_, "There's no one out here but you and me."  
"So?"

"So? If I were to decide to smack you really hard right now no one would come and save you. Not Hotch. Not JJ. Not Emily."

"Morgan, are you threatening me right now?"

"No, I'm _inspiring_ you. Now pick up your bat and let's go. And hey," Morgan said as Reid was stooping down to retrieve his bat. "I really will smack you, you know." Reid pursed his lips. Morgan raised his eyebrows. Thus an equation was completed. Morgan turned and busied himself with something else as Reid mentally tried to map out a non-mathematical plan in which he would get the ball to the place that was either called outfield or base or basefield. He barely even heard Morgan's next words.

"Man, is it just me or is it way too hot out here," he was saying as Reid mumbled furiously at the ground, "Wait a minute, I'm going to take off my shirt."

"Hey Morgan? I –" Reid looked up and promptly regretted it, "-ow, man! Your pecs!"

"What about them? Ah, they too hot for you?"

"Yes, man, they're blinding me!"

"What?" Morgan blinked down at his chest in surprise. He was good-lookin' but not _that _good-lookin'.

"Morgan, I can see the sun reflected on your chest!" This much was true. The impossibly smooth palate that was Morgan's chest provided a perfect reflector for the sun's rays. Fortunately, due to the positioning of his head, Morgan was spared the blinding glint of his own chest and thus skeptical of Reid's discomfort. For all he knew the kid was putting on a weird performance to get out of baseball training. Morgan shrugged his shirt back on.

"Now that's just exaggerating…look, I'll put a shirt on. There. Happy?"

"Button it up! I can still see the sun's rays."

"I'm not going to burn to a crisp!"

"Now who's exaggerating?" Reid muttered under his breath. But Morgan didn't hear him.

"Okay, then. Let's make a deal: I'll allow you to make whatever scientific or mathematical equations that you need one last time as long as you let me keep my shirt open for a little while."

"How long's a little while?"

"Five minutes." Reid blinked at him through watering eyes.

"Deal," he said. Morgan chuckled and went to retrieve the remaining balls. Reid stared down at the yellow dust beneath his feet again and thought. The wonderful gears of his mind were spinning furiously, cranking out a thousand theories to match a thousand possibilities. These he sorted through swiftly until he came upon a single percentage matched by a physical technique that seemed fair enough. He recalculated the equation that went with it and arrived at the same percentage scenario as before. This he found disappointing but Morgan was giving him a look that translated to 'I'm about to come over there in five…four…three…'

"Okay, throw it at me," Reid said as he swung the bat over his shoulder again. He visualized the arc that the bat was to take in order to produce the certain percentage as Morgan unbuttoned his shirt.

"You mean pitch it to you?"

"Morgan, throw the ball!" Morgan shook his head. Again he wound his arm back, threw the other in front of him, and sent the ball zinging Reid's way. The trajectory was at a bit of an odd angle –one that he hadn't factored into his equations but a simple modification ought to –

He swung his bat, heard the familiar ping, and felt the familiar jolt up his arm. Morgan was shouting and when he next opened his eyes he saw the ball flying over the edge of the stadium.

"That's what I'm talking about!" Morgan said, running towards him. He was about to pull him into a hug but then hesitated and decided to clap him on the shoulder instead. "That right there? That was amazing. I knew you had it in you, Reid."

"You know, I still don't understand why hitting the ball so far out of bounds that it leaves the stadium is a good thing. It seems like it would be a major foul."

"That last sentence right there basically sums up a lot of what's said in sports." Reid laughed that particular laugh of his. It was less of a laugh and more of a short, breathy _hmph_ and it was then that Morgan realized that Reid didn't really laugh often. He was torn between feeling proud that he had incited such a response and catering to his curiosity at the fact. Either way he smiled good-naturedly and asked Reid if he wanted to get a drink.

"Actually," Reid said, "I'd rather get something to eat. I'm starving."

"No," he said, throwing his arm around his friend, "you're just exaggerating." It was then that Morgan allowed himself to feel truly pleased for, with those few words, he had made Reid laugh harder than he had ever seen him laugh before.

Thirty minutes later found both men at Darby's Burger and Grill. Morgan sat twirling a French fry around his plate as he waited for Reid to finish up with a phone call outside. The young agent came back with a strange look on his face and slid into the booth in front of him. Morgan watched as he flipped through the menu in a desultory manner.

"Have you decided on what you want yet?" He asked. Morgan bit into the fry and shook his head.

"Nuh-uh. I'm still deciding on the appetizer." The joke should have had some effect on Reid seeing as they had spent ten minutes trying to decide on an appetizer, ten minutes in which Morgan had threatened to smack Reid twice and Reid, surprisingly enough, had snapped and threatened to smack him 'with so many statistics that by the time you raise your arm I'll have accurately calculated your next failed move and several of its counter moves three minutes into the future. I say we go with the fries."

Morgan suddenly had a craving for fries.

Now he watched his friend and colleague flip through the menu with attentiveness that he usually only gave to suspects and Star Trek. Something was bothering him. Morgan didn't have to be a profiler to know that.

"Come on now, don't get despondent on me. What's on your mind?"

"Nothing…" Morgan scoffed.

"The day that there's nothing on Spencer Reid's mind will be the day that Derek Morgan looses his cool. Tell me what's going on."

"Really, it's nothing-"

"Stop it," Morgan said, suddenly angry. Reid looked up at him. "Don't do that. Don't run away from me, Reid. I'm here for you, you know that."

"That was Clint Gray." Reid said after a pause. Morgan thought a moment.

"The instructor for the FBI firearm course?"

"Yeah. He said that I failed the test." This was stated in a blatant, matter-of-fact tone. The fact that Reid failed again was slightly disappointing yet unfortunately not very surprising for either man. But Morgan knew his friend better than that.

"But that's not it, is it?" He said slowly. A waitress came by and placed two strawberry milkshakes at their table.

"No…"Reid didn't say anything after that. He stirred the obnoxiously pink beverage in silence for a while before sighing and turning dark eyes on Morgan. "I can't send a baseball flying in the right direction without failing miserably first. And even if I do manage to get it right the first time it's always cause for celebration. You and JJ and Anderson and Hotch all hit homeruns like it's nothing. People don't think it miraculous or fantastically unexpected when you do it."

"Okay, but Reid this isn't about baseball. I know you better than that. You couldn't care less about the damn sport and neither could I, honestly. So tell me what this is really about."

"Morgan," Reid took a deep breath in. "If I can't do something as simple as sending a baseball in the right direction to earn my team points how can I expect to send a bullet in the right direction to protect that very same team?"

"Ah," Morgan nodded and took a sip of his milkshake, "You think Hotch would have let you stay on if he thought that you were in any way useless?"

"I didn't say useless," Reid said, "I said that I'm unable to protect my team. I'm better with interviews and evaluations of corpses than I am with helping to keep our team out of danger when it presents itself."

"No. No, no, no, no, no. Reid, look at me, man. You have saved our asses from a killer in a psychotic break more times than I can count _without_ a gun in your hand. That's because you use your words to do to them what most of us can only do with a bullet. Reid, I have watched you dismantle many men by forcing them to stop and look inside themselves. You reveal to them what they are and what they could have been and if Gideon were here he'd say that that causes more damage to a man than any gun wound ever could."

"A metaphorical gun wound isn't going to stop a psychotic killer," Morgan sighed .

"No. But it will make him pause. That's where we rush in and cuff him and by forcing him to pause like that you've saved the lives of everyone in that room, including him," Morgan leaned back and took another sip of his shake, "But I realize that may not be satisfying. I remember when I first joined the Chicago police force I wanted to put a bullet in every son of a bitch that killed an innocent family. You see, back then I refused to believe that there was any other way to make such a man pay. But watching you out there in the field made me realize that there are other, less violent ways,"

"You're saying that a few well-chosen words can destroy a man,"

"I'm saying that I've put my life in your hands for eight years and not once have I regretted it. Hey," Morgan said, dipping his head to look Reid in the eye. His black eyes were warm with mischievousness and Reid knew to be suspicious of his next words, "if ever those magic words of yours don't work you know I'll always be right behind you, covering you _as always_."

Reid looked down at his drink. That same look of handsome concentration was on his face but Morgan knew that he had touched _something_ deep inside of him. He had given Reid a choice and he would support his decision, whatever it may be. He only hoped that Reid understood that.

"I think I'm going to retake that test sooner rather than later," Reid finally said, "and try to study more serial killer psychology, if there's anything left for me to know."

"Ah-ah-ah. Slow down, genius. You've still got one more thing to do first." Reid smiled.

"…that is, after I hit a few more homeruns." Now it was Morgan's turn to smile. He lifted his glass in cheers and so did Reid.

"Hey Morgan?" Reid said after they had taken a sip. He had a bit of a strawberry milkshake moustache but Morgan wasn't complaining.

"What is it?"

"Thank you."

"Anything for you, pretty boy,"

**Really Long Author's Note: Yes! The baseball part of this chapter **_**was**_** ripe with metaphors for the Moreid pairing! You noticed! Also, you know you agree with me about Morgan's glinting pecs. We've all seen the pictures on Google images of him at the beach. In fact, if you don't believe me,** **I dare you to type in 'Shemar Moore shirtless' in the Google images bar** **right now. That whitish, yellowish glint on his chest isn't lotion that he forgot to rub in. It's the sun/camera light, baby.**

**Sorry. I'll stop.**

**Last thing. I feel like I've made the mistake of making Reid all too vulnerable throughout the story. Granted, he has gone through a life-changing event and he is normally one of the more submissive characters but let's get one thing straight: Reid is a BADASS and I haven't given that part of him nearly enough credit. I was rewatching S5x12 (The Uncanny Valley) and I think that the way in which he threatened Dr. Arthur Malcolm with unblinking eyes and words that whipped was so powerful (and sexy - wait, what?) I'm not exaggerating when I say that it left me breathless. And then I watched S3x14 (Damaged) where Reid subdued the unsub on the spot with fast logic and on-the-spot facts (after Hotch totally stripped down)** **and it further proved my point that where Hotch shoots, Morgan fights, and Elle condescends Reid placates using only his words. Unfortunately, due to the way that this story has been planned out I won't be able to give Reid his shining moments of badassery. If you want a taste of it I suggest you go and rewatch every episode of Criminal Minds.**

**Now someone get Mathew Gray-Gubler to reid this. I mean read. You get the joke. **


End file.
